


You were a shelter

by notaqueenakhaleesi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Post ADWD, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaqueenakhaleesi/pseuds/notaqueenakhaleesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a visitor from Highgarden comes to the Eyrie, Alayne Stone realises doesn't have to hide anymore. She was trapped, and he has freed her. But can she trust a Tyrell? Post ADWD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I must say

"Alayne?"

He entered her chamber door, unbidden, with a waft of mint and lemon- his scent was not an unpleasant mixture, but invasive. Just like him, supposed Alayne. She was lacing up her supple leather riding boots, one leg propped up on her dress chest. "Good morrow, father," she greeted him warmly, standing up. It was a fine morning- brisk, sunny, chilly yet rosy.

Petyr smiled amiably. "Good morrow to you, my lovely daughter." His green-grey eyes examined her, his gaze slowly moving up and down, taking in her garb. Alayne had chosen to wear a chestnut coloured dress to match her hair, the square collar trimmed with cream-coloured lace. Petyr nodded in approval, advancing towards her. "How about a kiss for your father this fine morning?"

Alayne fell into the routine, dutifully pecking his bristly cheek. He had not shaved recently, and the pointed beard he was known to stroke was beginning to join up to the tiny whiskers sitting proudly on his top lip. "You are becoming as bristly as a sow, Father," she dared, giggling.

Petyr guffawed. "Cheek!" he chided. "I suppose I should shave this morning. We're to have visitors at midday. I should think they would not want to make bargains with a sow."

"Visitors?" Alayne enquired. Only two days past they had been visited- Harry the Heir had come seeking Petyr, and they had spoken in privy, while Alayne was pressed with the never-ending task of entertaining the young Robert Arryn. Alayne dared not ask Petyr what words had been exchanged between himself and Harry. "Who?"

Petyr walked over to Alayne's chamber window, drawing the drapes open. Wintry sunlight beamed through. "Only half of the Tyrell strength," he huffed.

Alayne was taken aback. "Half of the Tyrell strength?" she gasped, her mouth agape. "How are we to host half the Tyrell strength? Why are they coming here?"

Petyr massaged the bridge of his nose. "Try not to fret, Daughter Mine. I have told Tyrell that only he and his closest guardsmen will be granted access inside the castle- he was quite gracious, and told me that he would supply for his own cohort. He is coming to gather men to retake the Shield Islands. I do not know who or what he expects to find here, if you ask me."

Alayne's heart was racing beneath her skin. "Garlan Tyrell?" she felt her stomach twist inside her, bile rising into her throat. "Father, I have met Ser Garlan, he will recognise me, he danced with me at…" at my wedding, she almost said, but she swallowed her words. That had not been her wedding- that had been another girls wedding, a stupid little girl with auburn hair.

"Ser Garlan?" Petyr shook his head. "It is not Ser Garlan coming here today. He has sent his brother in his place, thank the lord."

Alayne froze. No. No, no, no. "Loras," she squeaked. My knight of the flowers. "Ser Loras is coming here? That is even worse. He shall recognise me for sure, I…" I was half in love with him! She wanted to cry. How could this be happening? She would have to reside in her chambers for the duration of his stay.

Petyr took her hands in his. "Alayne! Darling! Calm yourself, it is not Ser Loras either. Ser Loras is half dead on Dragonstone, gods be good. It is Willas Tyrell who is coming today- you have not met him. Not many people have, he is known to be quite the… recluse."

A pang for Loras went through her, but she shook off the pity. Alayne thought she had heard wrong. "Willas?" her voice shook. Willas Tyrell. How many times had she whispered that name into her pillow? Memories of hope and wonder filled her mind, how she had been so excited that morning to meet her future husband… but it was all for nothing. Her hopeless dream.

"Yes, sweetling. Now, come, help prepare for the visit- the young Lord will need to be bathed and fed. We will have a small feast tonight, I should think- A Tyrell is a big deal, or so everyone seems to think. I feel that Willas is something of a black sheep in the Tyrell family. Come, help me shave."

Alayne was halfway through feeding Robert a lunch of chicken broth and boiled eggs. She heard them before she saw them. The sun was high in the sky by the time half the Tyrell strength rode up, their horses whinnying in due to the treacherous, rocky terrain. Knights were yelling and swearing, weary from their travels

"Who's coming now?" he asked, his thin voice taking on that spoilt, brattish tone Alayne had come to ignore. "I don't want to talk to them."

"Lord Willas Tyrell and his host are coming, Sweetrobin. And don't worry, you will not have to talk to them of business- Petyr will see to that. All you need to do is greet them and welcome them into your castle," she said, spooning broth into Robert's little red mouth. She tried to sound as cheery as possible, when really she was more nervous than she'd been in a while.

"What if I don't want to welcome them into my castle?" Robert pouted.

Gods be good, Alayne thought. There's always a what if. "Well, then you will make me very sad, my strong lord." She put on a sombre face. "You don't want to make me sad, do you?"

A small crease appeared between Robert's pale eyebrows. "Alright," he looked at his plate. "I will welcome them. For you."

"That's my brave lord." Alayne smoothed his fine hair from his face. "Now, eat your eggs and we'll go and welcome them together."

Alayne knew she would have to try to be inconspicuous. Her hair had been freshly darkened, so it was not like she would be recognisable. She was just another pretty bastard, one of thousands. Willas Tyrell was not likely to tell his sister, father or brothers about Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter. Nevertheless, her hands were slick.

Petyr was waiting downstairs at the main doors that led into the throne room. "I'll go and meet them at the gates, you wait here."

Everyone from Mya Stone to the youngest serving girl was eager to catch a glimpse of the Tyrell. The residents of the Eyrie hovered in every corner. After Petyr had descended down to the front gates, Alayne and Robert were approached by Myranda Royce, plump and pink-cheeked.

"Seven hells, a Tyrell!" she exclaimed. She put her arm around Robert protectively. "Don't you worry, My Lord, you will be completely fine. Alayne and I will be right here. After all, how scary can a flower be?" Myranda roared with laughter at her own joke.

Alayne's thoughts drifted to the cunning Margaery and Lady Olenna. Some roses have hidden thorns, Myranda, she thought. "Have you ever met a Tyrell before, Randa?" Alayne had grown accustomed to the nickname- Myranda was now considered a friend. She was fun, but sometimes too randy. A suited name, Alayne had to agree.

"Gods, no!" Myranda hoisted Robert onto her ample hip. "I've heard the Knight of the Flowers is quite handsome, though. Mayhaps I should like to meet one."

"Mm," Alayne made a vague sound in agreement. Alayne couldn't help but snort at the thought of Myranda flirting with Loras. Petyr had confided in Alayne a while back that Loras was not interested in women, and Alayne had scolded herself for being so blind. Now, looking back at it, it was so blatantly obvious.

The heavy mahogany doors to the throne room were thrown open, letting in a cool breeze, and in through them walked Petyr, followed by three men. Two of them were armoured and quite ridiculously wrapped in furs- their Highgarden temperatures had not prepared them for the cool Vale air. They took in the Moon Door with fascination, silent steeds.

The other man, however, was dressed lightly in chainmail and leather- his golden brown hair was parted to the side, loose curls ruffled by the wind. He leaned heavily on a cane, his right leg twisted grotesquely. He could only be Willas Tyrell.

"Lord Littlefinger, I must say, this mountain domicile is quite astonishing. I cannot express how grateful we are to you for letting us reside here- my host is rather exhausted. Oh, goodness, is that a hole in the floor?" Willas spoke a mile a minute, his tawny Tyrell eyes bright with intelligence.

Petyr chuckled. "It is no hassle, Lord Tyrell, I assure you. And yes, that's the Moon Door."

Willas hobbled over to the Moon Door, enraptured. "How intriguing." He looked up at Petyr, his eyes drifting towards Robert, Alayne and Myranda. His face suddenly filled with horror. "Lord Baelish, I apologise- I've been so rude. Please, introduce me."

Alayne felt her stomach flutter as she examined Willas. He did look like Loras, Garlan and Margaery, but his demeanour seemed so different. He spoke as if everything was a wonder to him, and his face was not cool and calculating like Margaery or Olenna, nor was it arrogant and guarded like Loras- his face looked open, warm, excited.

Robert's face was buried in Myranda's shoulder when Petyr attempted to introduce them. "Lord Willas, this is Jon Arryn's heir and Lord of the Vale, Robert Arryn." He leaned in to whisper, "you may want to approach him carefully."

Myranda propped Robert on the floor.

"Hello there, Lord Robert. It is an honour to meet you." Willas smiled genially, holding out his hand unthreateningly for Robert to shake. Robert sniffed, wiped his nose, and quickly squeezed the offered hand. Alayne noted Willas had the good grace not to wipe his hand on his breeches.

Willas turned back to Petyr, a sympathetic expression crossing his face. "Lord Baelish, I must say, I'm grievously sorry for your loss of the Lady Lysa," he said. He smiled down at Robert. "She must have been a great lady, to bring up such a handsome, well-mannered young man all by herself!"

Well-mannered is not a description Petyr would use, Alayne thought inwardly. Willas moved his attention to Myranda. "Greetings, My Lady."

"This is Myranda Royce, daughter of Lord Nestor Royce," Petyr said, patiently tenting his fingers.

Myranda held out her soft, white hand. Willas kissed it gently. "You may kiss the other one too, if you like," Myranda added, nonchalant. Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously.

Willas laughed aloud. "I shall!" He kissed her other hand. "Well met, Lady Royce." Finally, Willas turned to Alayne. His eyes widened slightly, and only seconds later a large smile broke out on his face.

"Lord Willas, this is my natural-daughter, Alayne Stone," Petyr introduced her as if she were high-born and not a bastard. He let that fact slip his mind too, sometimes.

Willas's eyes looked deeply into Alayne's, his gaze so intense she looked at her feet, blushing. She curtsied neatly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tyrell."

Willas bowed. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Stone." When he straightened, a grimace was thinly concealed on his face. He bit down on his lip as if to stifle a moan.

"My Lord?" Alayne's brow furrowed. What have I done wrong? "Is ought amiss?" Gods, I'm a stupid girl. I always mess something up.

Petyr swooped in. "How rude of me, Lord Willas. I forgot about your leg. Come, we'll sort out some milk of the poppy or a warm bath, perhaps…"

His leg. Alayne was hit with the realisation.

"No!" Willas grunted, a little too loudly. "I mean, no, thank you, Lord Baelish, I'm quite alright. It has just been a long ride, that's all. I should like to be taken to my chambers, if that is alright."

"Of course. Alayne, see Lord Willas to his chambers- make sure he is comfortable and settled in." He gestured for Myranda and Robert to follow him back upstairs to the solar. "We will be in the solar at dusk for a feast, Lord Willas." He ascended the stairs without a second glance backwards- Myranda winked as she passed Willas.

Alayne was left alone with Willas. She awkwardly dithered beside him, wondering what she could do to help. "My lord, would… do you need some aid, a stool…?"

"Pah!" Willas was leaning heavily on his cane. "My thanks, but I am fine, Lady Stone. Truly." His voice quavered slightly. His face was pale with pain as he staggered in the direction of where he guessed his chambers would be.

Alayne had turned a blind eye to too many lies in the past. She knew when someone wasn't alright. She tried not to giggle at Willas's determination. "My lord, I think you should follow me if you would like to find your chambers. They are in the opposite direction."

Willas lifted a finger, spinning around. "I knew that." He strode in the direction Alayne began to lead him in, eager to be ahead. His leg slowed him, and he let out a groan of agony as he stumbled on the slippery stone floor.

"Oh!" Alayne gasped, grabbing hold of his shoulder. "I insist, my lord, lean on me. I can see you are in pain."

Willas's cheeks flushed pink. "My… my thanks, Lady Stone." He timidly rested his arm around her shoulders. Alayne flipped her dark hair out of her face. Willas kept his eyes to the floor, wincing with each step.

They made their slow, silent journey to Willas's chamber within ten minutes. They paused outside the heavy wooden doors as Alayne unlocked them, fiddling with the key. "I hope you find your chambers to your liking, my lord. My father and I will see that your chests make it here quickly."

"I'm not a fussy man, and I'm sure my clothes will be just fine. It's my books I'm concerned for. They are quite heavy, I warn you." Willas was known for being an avid reader, Alayne remembered. She longed for a good book every now and again.

Once the doors were open, Willas stood in the threshold, scratching the back of his neck. "Gods, how humiliating," he mumbled under his breath.

"My lord?" she could not imagine he was any more humiliated than her.

Willas laughed hardly. "The minute I get here, I all but collapse! I must say, I owe you many thanks for your shoulder to lean on."

Alayne noticed that was the third time he said "I must say." An endearing little phrase, she thought vaguely. "It was my pleasure, my lord."

"Willas. Please," he smiled warmly.

Alayne frowned. "But… my lord, I…"

"I am no lord, Lady Stone. My father was the lord of Highgarden. Nor am I a ser, like Loras and Garlan. And as hard to it is to believe, nor am I a queen, like Margaery."

Alayne could not help but giggling at that. "If it pleases you, my… Willas," she stammered. My Willas? She realised what she'd said, mortified. She busied herself by entering his chambers to draw open the curtains.

Willas's face was amused. "My Willas. Ah, those are memories from my childhood! That's what my mother called me," he spoke easily, hobbling over to the cushioned seat beside the window. "Again, many thanks, my lady. I will see you at dinner in the solar tonight, will I not?"

"I will be there," Alayne avoided his eyes, curtsying. "I… hope your leg feels better." She hurried out the door.

What a funny man, she thought to herself. He was not at all like his siblings. Alayne once would have thought that a flaw, but she found it rather refreshing. He seemed more… real. She remembered, in wonder, that she might've been his wife.

No, she told herself. That had been another girl.


	2. Eyes cannot speak

Dusk fell over the Eyrie, cool and dark. Alayne had spent the afternoon helping Petyr organise the Tyrell strength and their amenities. She found she couldn't help but be slightly excited for the feast. She thought Willas Tyrell an odd fellow, but pleasant. Not to mention, she was ravenous- she was eager for the food and all but skipped to the solar where Petyr, Myranda, Robert and Willas were sitting around a simple yet splendid feast set out on the table.

"Here she is!" Petyr smiled at her, the smile not quite reaching those grey-green eyes. Willas bobbed his head at her.

"Good evening, Lady Stone," he greeted her pleasantly. His eyes didn't leave hers. "I must say…"

"Alayne! Come sit next to me, I saved you a seat!" Robert Arryn interrupted Willas from the opposite end of the table, patting the chair next to him. Alayne swept over to him, ruffling his hair.

"Now, my lord, you shouldn't interrupt people when they're halfway through a sentence," she chided gently, furtively sending an apologetic smile in Willas's direction. "But I will sit next to you."

"Indeed," Petyr agreed. He selected a choice cut of venison, placing it on his plate. He gestured for everyone to do the same. "You may begin. Now, what were you going to say, Lord Willas?"

Willas spread his arms out to the table. "This feast looks magnificent. You must have quite the cooks here. I must thank them afterwards," he chose some morsels and ate delicately, savouring every bite.

He is a man who loves life, Alayne thought. He enjoys little things. Alayne wished she could do the same, but all the little things she enjoyed had been taken away from her. She nibbled daintily on a chicken leg.

"Willas, how is your leg? It must ail you so," Myranda simpered. She was sitting beside Willas, her doe-eyes moist and sympathetic.

Willas shook his head graciously. "My thanks for your concern, Lady Royce. I have gotten used to it. It still pains me, but it's alright- I was never very good at jousting, anyhow. I prefer to sit back and read, or study the stars. Loras and Garlan are the true knights- I don't believe I was meant to be in tourneys or court."

Myranda nodded, patting his thigh. Willas shifted uncomfortably. "Did you hold a grudge against Prince Oberyn for what he did to you?" she asked.

"Who is Prince Oberyn?" Robert interjected lously.

Willas's cheerful face was overcome with sadness. "The day it happened, I cursed him to all seven hells. But Oberyn and I kept in touch- we wrote each other every moon." He played with the food on his plate absently. "I forgave him. I grieved him."

"Prince Oberyn was a dornishman, Sweetrobin. A very clever and witty man," Alayne whispered to Robert. She looked at Willas. The grief on his face was so real and raw it made her hurt for him.

Petyr, sensing the awkwardness, swooped in. "Lady Myranda, I think you are taking Lord Willas slightly off guard!" he said lightly, reaching for a pitcher of wine. "Some wine, my lord? The Arbor's finest, I can assure you."

"No, thank you, Lord Baelish, I'm fine with water," Willas replied. His eyes caught Alayne's, clear and bright. His intelligent gaze searched her face, inquisitive. She wondered what he was looking for. She dropped her eyes quickly, busying herself with the cheese on her plate.

"How is your family at present, Lord Willas? Have you heard from Ser Garlan recently? And is there news of Ser Loras or Queen Margaery?" Myranda asked, snatching the pitcher from Petyr and pouring herself a large goblet of red wine.

A small dimple appeared between Willas's straight eyebrows. "I have not had word from Garlan since about two weeks ago- that was when he sent me here. I still do not know what my aim is, but he said he will write me soon. Loras…" he bit his lip. "Loras, I have not heard from. I pray for him constantly. I lie awake all night worrying about my incessant little brothers!" He laughed nervously, taking a sip of water. Alayne noticed his hand was shaking.

As did I, she thought. Every night, I prayed for Bran and Rickon. Her throat became thick, her heart heavy. She was aware of Willas's eyes, still on her face. She feared she had let some emotion show.

"And Margaery…" Willas continued, "I have written to Margaery every week, but she does not reply. They are very secretive about my sister the Queen." He finished his water.

Petyr nodded. "I'm sure your siblings are well. They are Tyrells, after all!" he winked at Myranda, who laughed bawdily.

"I think they are stronger than I, Lord Baelish," Willas stated softly.

Robert fidgeted, left out of the conversation. "Alayne, can you tell us a story? I'm bored, and you tell good stories," he asked, grabbing a potato with his grotty hand. Petyr breathed out heavily through his nostrils.

Alayne rested her hand on Robert's shoulder. "Sweetrobin, now isn't the time for a story. I promise I will tell you one tomorrow, one with dragons and knights and everything you like," she assured.

"I should like to hear a story, as well!" Willas clasped his hands together. "My books are becoming ponderous reads. May I join you for your story?" he enquired. He looked to Alayne. "If it is alright, of course."

Robert's rheumy eyes narrowed. Myranda nodded, encouraging Robert to do the same. "I… I suppose," he sniffed.

Petyr chortled. "Is Highgarden lonely with only you and your books there, Lord Willas?"

Willas waved a dismissive hand. "I have never been the most social fellow. I enjoy the company of my dogs and hawks. I've found that they hardly ever reveal your secrets or argue with you."

Dogs, Alayne remembered. She'd been told, a lifetime ago, that Willas bred dogs. She had imagined them together with puppies on their laps when they'd supposedly been betrothed. What a stupid dream that had been. "What are your dog's names?" she blurted, unaware of the fact that she'd just asked such a ridiculous question. She cringed at her own folly.

Willas faltered a little at her question, surprised. An expression of utter glee crossed his face. "I have too many to name, Lady Stone, but I have a number of favourites- my oldest, Rosie, such an original name, I know, she is a delight. My hunter, Meraxes, was bred to be fierce- but he is a coward if you've ever met one, believe me!" he launched into a long list of names.

Petyr nodded courteously, Myranda attempted to seem interested, and Robert was half-asleep- but Alayne was enraptured. She longed to have a dog again. A pang went through her for her Lady.

"… and that's it, I believe," Willas finished, picking up his empty goblet. "I'm glad you asked." He turned his goblet upside down, astounded by the fact that there was no more water in it. "Lady Stone, could you please pass the water?"

As Alayne went to pass the jug, Robert Arryn leant across the table to take a leg of lamb from Myranda's plate. Alayne's hand slipped around the cool metal, and icy water spilt everywhere- over the lace tablecloth, the nut platter, Myranda and… Willas.

"Oh, gods!" Myranda yelped. Alayne jumped back, covering her mouth. Petyr swore loudly.

"Gods be good…" he pushed Robert out of the way, mopping Willas up with a cloth he'd found. "I apologise, Lord Willas, it's not usually like this…" he turned, eyes blazing, to Robert. "Why can't you just behave for once, you insolent little…"

"No, I'm fine, it's fine!" Willas stood up, dripping onto the floor. He leaned heavily on his cane. "Though, the water's a bit chilly." A sodden curl stuck limply to his forehead.

Alayne had frozen on the spot. "Oh, my lord, I am so, so very sorry, it was an accident, I swear…" Alayne searched frantically for a cloth, but could only find her dress. She tried desperately to sop up the water on the table with her skirts.

"Lady Stone, I am perfectly fine. Rain makes the roses grow." He tried not to let any water spill onto the goatskin rug on the floor.

Alayne smiled gratefully at him, turning to Robert. His little hands had begun to shiver. "I'm s-s-sorry, M-My Lord," he whimpered, little spasms rocking through him. Oh no, not now, Alayne thought, please, not now.

"Myranda, see that Robert gets his milk of the poppy!" Petyr boomed. Myranda nodded, hoisting the convulsing child over her shoulder. Alayne was blushing furiously. "Alayne, take Lord Willas and clean him up. Again, my Lord, we do apologize for his behaviour, he is still young…"

"Do not apologize, Lord Baelish, it is nothing," he reassured. "Go see to Lord Robert."

Petyr bowed his head to Willas, rushing after Myranda. Alayne hastily wheeled Willas from the solar, down the stairs to his chambers. He limped along after her as she muttered apologies to him the whole way.

They entered his chambers, Alayne muttering under her breath.

"Stupid, stupid girl." Gods, she was horrified that she'd let this happen. She truly was as daft as everyone thought.

"Lady Stone!" Willas interrupted her. She looked up at him nervously. His loose curls were unravelling over his forehead, and for an absurd moment Alayne wanted to push them away from his face. The feeling was ephemeral. "Lady Stone, I will tell you again- I am fine. It is nothing I haven't experienced before- younger siblings, remember?"

Alayne's discomfort slowly ebbed away when she saw he wasn't angry. "I am sorry, though," she whispered meekly.

A dimple bloomed in Willas's cheek. "And I forgive you, wholeheartedly. You carried me to my chambers earlier, consider it revenge." He shrugged off his sodden doublet, his undershirt transparent and clinging to his lean frame.

She turned away hastily, pretending that she hadn't even noticed the outline of his body through the cloth. "I… I will fetch you some "Some dry linen, I'll fetch some dry linen…"

"You do not have to," said Willas.

"No, but I am going to," replied Alayne.

She barely heard him laugh as she hurried to find the maids linen closet, finding the largest, softest sheets. When she returned to Willas's chambers, she hesitated outside the heavy door. It was open, just a fraction. She could see him kneeling beside his chest of clothing, searching for something else to don.

Willas had discarded his drenched undershirt, and Alayne could not help but peek. She had seen men's bodies before, but never like this. She'd seen old, rotund men and large, seasoned knights, their bodies hard and weathered. This was a different experience.

She'd imagined- no, not imagined, what type of maid would imagine a man without his garb?- she'd thought, long in the past, that Willas Tyrell would have the same slender, reed-like figure as his brother Loras, but it was quite different. He was not muscled, like Loras had been- he was slender, but soft. Lean, but not muscular. It was not a knight's body. It was a bookkeepers.

This whole peeping session lasted no more than ten seconds. She scolded herself for being so vulgar, and knocked on the door. "May I come in?"

Willas rapidly slipped on a new undershirt. "Yes, yes, come in!" He sat down on his bed, his leg stretched out. "You were quick."

Alayne set the linen down on the seat beside the window. From here, she could see the stars slowly appearing in the distance.

She felt Willas's eyes on her back. "You're quiet, Lady Stone," Willas stated from behind her, blatant and honest.

Alayne felt her eyebrows rise. "And you are not, my lord."

The side of Willas's lip quirked up slightly. "You are quiet, but from what I can see, you have a quick wit about you." He opened his mouth as if to say more, but stopped.

Alayne was taken aback. No one had ever told her she had quick wits. How many times had Cersei and Joffrey reminded her of what a dolt she was? "I… I doubt that highly, Lord Willas."

Willas tilted his head to the side. "You should not." He lifted his leg up onto the bed, wiggling his toes. He let out a sigh of relief. Alayne noticed he did not lift up the leg of his breeches to relieve it- perhaps he was ashamed. "Did you know, Lady Stone, that you speak with your eyes?"

Alayne frowned, puzzled. Eyes? "My lord? I don't understand."

Willas pointed to his eyes, sparkling from the light of the bedside candle. "You. You speak with your eyes. They talk. Since I arrived here earlier, our eyes have already had many conversations."

Alayne felt herself smile quizzically, unbidden. "Eyes cannot speak," she opened the shutters to the window.

"Can't they? Then am I wrong to think yours have conversed with me?" he spoke gently, wincing slightly. His leg was as stiff as a board.

"Are you japing with me?" Alayne enquired. "You are. You are japing."

Willas beamed at her. "Do you enjoy japes, Alayne?"

"Well, it depends on the jape. I have not experienced a good jape in a while."

"Mm," Willas nodded. "You told me earlier. With your large blue eyes," he pointed to his own eyes, golden and gleaming with mischief.

Alayne could not contain the giggle that erupted from her mouth. "Forgive me, Lord Willas, but you are strange!" she exclaimed through a fit of laughter. She shook her head, disbelieving. "I must leave, Petyr- Father will need help with Robert. And again…"

"… You are sorry for spilling water on me. And again, I forgive you," his eyes fluttered shut. "Go if you must. I will see you on the morrow, will I not?"

"If you would like, My Lord." She curtsied. "I bid you good night, Lord Willas."

"And you, Lady Stone."

She left with a grin plastered to her face. She was so bewildered by their conversation that she did not even hear Willas say "I would like to."


	3. A snow maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long with the update, I've had a lot of schoolwork. I hope this makes up for it! x

Morning came, and Alayne woke to a beam of sunlight streaming through her chamber window. She had spent half the night trying to comprehend Willas's words- you speak with your eyes. Whatever did he mean by that? She dressed swiftly, remembering that she had to help set breakfast up. She'd almost forgotten that Robert had had an episode last night; she was so perplexed by the other Tyrell brother. He was quite unlike anyone she'd ever come across.

Alayne hurried to the solar, drawing her fur collar tighter around her neck. It was an icy morning, and goosebumps prickled her skin. She was the first one in the solar, other than the serving girls, who were laying out cutlery and the table linen. They chattered excitedly with one another, not noticing Alayne in the doorway.

"He's handsome, isn't he?" one of them said, wiping the mahogany table. Her dark ringlets bounced as she gushed. "But not in a common way."

"I s'pose," the other one replied, putting down her platters of fruit and bread. "But he's a Tyrell, so Lord Littlefinger can't trust him."

The dark-haired one made a rude sound. "And you can trust Lord Littlefinger?" she laughed.

Alayne cleared her throat. It was only then that the pair of serving girls noticed her standing there. They both curtsied hurriedly. "My lady," the second one stammered, blushing. The first one did the same.

Alayne nodded at them. "Thank you for your service," she said steadily, dismissing them. They hastily made their way from the room, heads down. Alayne sat down at the table, pondering what the curly-haired maid had said so incredulously. Can you trust Lord Littlefinger?

She was lost in thought, a strand of chestnut hair wound around her finger, when she was joined in the solar.

"What a glorious morning!" an enthusiastic voice exclaimed, jolting Alayne from her trance. She turned in her seat to see Willas Tyrell- she should have guessed by the tone of his voice- marvelling at the view of the mountains through the solar's large windows.

Alayne jumped to her feet and curtsied. "Good morning, Lord Willas. I… how was your first night in the Eyrie?"

"Lady Stone!" Willas smiled brightly. "It is a good morning, isn't it? Marvellous!" he gestured to the sun rising over the snow-capped mountains. "I had hoped I would see you this morning. My night was perfectly fine, thank you. My chambers were more than enough." He bit his lip. "How does Lord Robert fare?"

"I am glad you found them to your liking." Alayne hadn't seen Robert this morning. "I have not seen my father or Lord Robert this morning. You are the first here, besides the serving girls and me."

Willas nodded. "Well, I am something of an early bird myself. I enjoy the peacefulness." Willas sat across from Alayne, eying the food. "You have not broken your fast?"

Alayne frowned. "It would hardly be polite to break my fast without anyone else at the table," she stated.

Willas threw up his hands. "Goodness, look at me. How rude can someone be? Of course it isn't polite." He shook his head, as if chiding himself. "I should need you to reteach me my table manners, Lady Stone! You know what you are talking about."

Alayne bit back a smile. "I've learnt from the best." She winced at her own words after she said them. It sounded as if she were conceited, as if she were calling the Tyrell's inferior. Willas hardly noticed.

"Manners are more becoming than wickedness, I think," Willas said, straightening his leg. "My sister seems to think herself quite alluringly wicked at times. I've often told her that manners would work better for her, but she's Margaery, and there's no changing Margaery's mind. You have a very polite demeanour, Lady Stone. It is quite charming, and refreshing."

"Why, thank you, Lord Willas." Alayne felt her stomach flip. Alluringly wicked. If there were two words to describe Margaery, those wouldn't have been the ones Alayne would have chosen. "I found Margaery quite polite, actually."

Willas arched his eyebrow, surprised. "You have met her?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Alayne hadn't met Margaery. That was another girl.

Alayne stumbled for words. Her tongue felt like stone. "I… well, we…"

As if the gods had answered her prayers, Petyr entered the room with Robert trailing behind. "Good morrow, Lord Willas! Good morrow, beautiful daughter!" he kissed her on the cheek as he passed her, lingering a little longer than he should have.

"Alayne!" Robert climbed onto her lap, wrapping his skinny arms around her neck. "Your chambers were locked last night, I couldn't get in. Why were they locked?"

"Perhaps Alayne needs some privacy every now and again, Little Lord," Petyr hinted. Alayne hugged Robert back, her eyes locked firmly on the table. She felt Willas's burning, quizzical gaze.

"How was your night, Lord Willas? Again, we do apologize for last night. It will not happen again," Petyr assured, gesturing for everyone to start breaking their fast. Alayne pried Robert off her lap and served him an applecake.

"It was very pleasant, thank you. I should like to come here more often. And do not mention it, it's forgotten already." Willas chose a hard-boiled egg vaguely, attention snapping to Petyr. "I was wondering if maybe I could have a tour of the entire residence, if it would be alright."

"I'm pleased your leg did not hurt." Petyr fiddled with the mockingbird pin on his lapel. "Ah, of course. A tour can most definitely be arranged. Alayne knows it the Eyrie off the back of her hand, she can guide you. Can't you, Alayne?"

Alayne looked up. Petyr nodded reassuringly at her. What better way to keep up the façade than this? "Y- Yes. Of course. I would be glad to show you around, Lord Willas."

After breakfast, Alayne led Willas down the swirling stairwell beneath the keep, and out into the snow-covered yard below. He took some time descending, but Alayne waited for him patiently at the foot of the stairs. Patience was polite.  
His lips trembled into an insecure smile when he reached the bottom. "I apologize for being so slow." He scuffed his boot on the icy cobblestone floor.

Alayne shook her head, pushing open the heavy doors before them. "Do not apologize. You sound quite like me!" she told him. The doors opened, and the view of the icy gardens greeted them. Alayne heard Willas's gasp of delight, cherishing the sound.

"Gods be true," he whispered in awe, "I am in a dream. I have not yet woken up." His words turned to white mist as they stepped outside. "Lady Stone, you must pinch me."

Alayne gave him a double take. "My Lord?"

Willas held out a gloved hand to her. "Just give it a squeeze, then. I must know I am awake."

Alayne could feel two red spots blooming in her cheeks as she tentatively squeezed his hand. She was almost certain she felt him squeeze back- maybe it was just her. She drew her hand away quickly, clasping it with her other hand.

Willas knelt down, picking up a handful of snow, letting it slip through his fingers. "I am not dreaming, then," Willas marvelled at the crystallized trees and the icicles hanging off the doorway. "Oh, this is just splendid."

Something dawned on Alayne. "Have you… have you never seen snow, my lord?" she asked, astounded.

"I must admit, I haven't. I have only left Highgarden twice, this being the third time." They continued strolling through the ice gardens, the evergreen hedges sparkling in the fresh sunlight. Willas seemed to walk so easily with his cane- it was as if it were a third leg.

The fact that he'd never seen snow seemed implausible to Alayne. He had never experienced the thrill of a snowball fight with his siblings, or the pleasure of sitting beside a hearth while a blizzard raged on outside. "This must be like a whole new world for you," she breathed.

"It is, it is. But you look quite like you belong here, Lady Stone," he examined her. "A snow maiden, you are."

Under his intrigued gaze, Alayne's ears burnt hot. She walked ahead of him. "You must see the lake, my lord. On clear days, it's a beautiful blue colour."

She led the way. The lake was large, about ninety feet in diameter. Overnight, it had frozen over, and the wet light made it glimmer. Alayne came here sometimes to think, to perhaps remember other frozen lakes she had sat by on nights long past. Willas was enraptured instantaneously.

"Beautiful," he breathed. He hesitated, looking to Alayne. "You don't suppose…" he began.

"… I don't suppose…?" she prompted. She was amazed at her own boldness with this lord. But Alayne seemed to feel quite natural around him.

"You don't suppose it's strong enough to stand on, do you? Is the ice thick enough?"

Alayne considered the ice carefully. She had ice-skated enough times to see that it was thick enough to hold their weights. "I think it's strong enough, yes."

Willas flashed a cheeky grin at her before stepping gingerly onto the ice. "I feel the most incredible urge to just…" he cautiously shuffled along the cobalt coloured ice, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. He made it to the centre of the lake, and twirled around with a whoop.

Alayne enjoyed watching him, but she was concerned. It was his first time on the ice. "My lord, are you sure you should…?" Alayne started, but at that instant, Willas's twisted leg skidded out beneath him, and he landed with a thump on his behind. Alayne jumped, following him onto the frozen lake. "Oh, gods…"

When she reached him, he laughed. "I am fine, Lady Stone! Better than fine, actually." He ran his hands over the glassy ice.

The snowflakes melting in his golden-brown hair reminded Alayne of someone else, someone from long ago. She reached out a hand to help him to his feet. "I can tell you are not familiar with any sorts of ice, either."

"It's quite obvious, isn't it?" Willas replied, taking her hand. As he tried pulling himself to his feet, the counterbalance did not seem to quite work as they had planned. He was slim, but he weighed quite a bit more than Alayne did, and before she knew it, her boots slipped along the ice.

"Oh, no…!" Alayne cried, realising that she was going to fall. Her legs were awkwardly spreading in different directions, and Willas has grabbed a handful of her skirts to hold her erect.

Alayne finally found her centre of balance, and stood up straight, her feet firmly planted on the ice. Willas remained sitting, clutching Alayne's skirts.

"I am incredibly sorry, Lady Stone," he released her bustle.

"No! Do not be sorry, you held me upright. Just as I held you upright yesterday." She huffed, her words creating a steam. "Let's try again. Give me your cane."

"We must cease from apologizing to each other every second sentence." Willas handed his cane over.

Alayne held it out horizontally to him. "Grab hold of it, and I'll try to lift you up."

Willas obeyed, and after many grunts of effort and stammered apologies, ("What did I just say?") he was on his unstable feet. As he stood, he marvelled at his own balance… but only fleetingly. He began to sway slightly, and he stumbled forwards, straight into Alayne. She gasped, struggling to keep him upright.

Willas's face was uncomfortably close to hers, she soon realised. She felt his breath on her cheek, and his eyes on hers. They stood like that for a few moments, before something very strange happened. It was as if the tension between them had just evaporated.

Alayne felt the queerest sense to just… laugh.

It started with a slight giggle, which Willas reciprocated. But soon, they were both roaring with raucous, untamed laughter, as if it were the most normal thing in the world that they were locked in this compromising position on the ice, her hands clasped tightly around his bony elbows, his nose close to clashing hers.

"This," Willas wheezed between fits of laughter, "is ludicrous."

Alayne had tears in her eyes. It had been so long since she had laughed like this. She couldn't remember the last time. "Let's try… and get back to safety!" she could not help the unladylike snort that escaped her nose.

They manoeuvred themselves precisely and carefully back to the bank, laughing the whole way. The pair were only about twenty-five feet from safety, before it started to become a bit difficult.

A sound came from beneath them, a tiny, crackling sound- almost like a woodfire spitting and hissing. "What was that?" Willas asked, his laughter ebbing away.

Alayne's stomach flipped. She recognised that sound. It was the sound of thin ice being put under a lot of pressure. "We need to move. Quickly."

"Was it the ice?" Willas paled. Alayne did not answer- she pushed on towards the bank, her jaw set with determination.

They began to shuffle at a quicker pace, but Willas's leg made it a challenge. "Come on, we must go faster…" Alayne began, before an incredibly loud cracking sound echoed around them. Willas looked at the ice beneath them, and his expression was one of horror. The ice had developed a large crevasse, and It was rapidly widening- just beneath Alayne.

"Alayne, ALAYNE!" he cried, but it was too late. It happened so quickly, Alayne didn't even realise it had happened at all. The solid ground beneath Alayne's feet shattered and fell away, and a piercing, bone-chilling cold swallowed her up.


	4. Shiver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's back! I'm so sorry for taking so damn long to update, I've been really busy with school and acting and life in general. However, my muse came back to me, and here is a new chapter. I hope you guys forgive me. Thanks! x

Her lungs burnt. Her limbs were heavy, but she couldn't feel them. She couldn't feel anything. Her mind was blank of all thoughts, her nerves felt no sensations. Numb. Numb, all over.

She was going to die- that was all she could comprehend. She could not see, she could not breathe, and she could not feel. Perhaps she was already dead. Here I am, mother and father, she thought. Here I am, Robb, Bran, Arya and Rickon. I hope I didn't take too long.

These thoughts lasted no more than a second each, before her brain finally gave up to the sweet, sweet cold.

"Please."

A muffled voice, so distant, so soft.

Robb, she thought. It was Robb's voice. She was with the gods now. She was with her family. She willed her frozen tongue to whisper his name.

"Robb…" Her own voice resonated within her head. A warm hand found her hair, stroked it. It felt so real, so warm. She longed to reach out and touch him, but she was unable to move her stone-heavy hands, unable to bend her stiff fingers.

"Alayne? Can you hear me?" Robb asked, his voice closer now, his words slurred and languid.

That was not right. Alayne. That was not her name. That was not what Robb called her.

It wasn't Robb. And she wasn't dead.

Her eyelids, like red drapes pulled over her eyes, slowly opened. Her head pounded, the drums of war beating inside her skull. Confusion overcame her, her breathing erratic. She could hardly see. She shivered violently. She tried to concentrate on the warmth, on the voice.

Her blurred vision slowly focussed, a face coming into view. Golden-brown eyes, a straight, quizzical nose, a brow furrowed with concerned.

Willas Tyrell.

"Alayne?" Willas's voice was tentative. "Oh, thank the gods…"

Alayne was disoriented. She forced herself to speak. "… what…?" the single word was gruelling. She panicked momentarily, grasping the bed linen. "What … why…?"

"Hush now, you're alright, you're alright. You fell through the ice. But you're alright now," he reassured. She felt a slight pressure on her icy hand and he squeezed it gently. She found herself immediately calm.

It came flooding back. She'd fallen through the ice. It had all been so lovely, and had turned awful so quickly. But that was her life; nothing nice ever lasted. She looked around. She was in her chambers, the curtains open, a wintry dusk light filtered through the window. She saw Petyr sitting at the foot of her bed, hands clasped.

Alayne still didn't understand how she had gotten out of that situation. "How…?"

It was Petyr who replied. "Lord Willas carried you from the lake. Quite the act of chivalry, considering his… condition." Petyr's voice was dry, his face strangely free of emotion. He eyed Willas's bad leg.  
Alayne looked back to Willas, in awe. "You… saved me?" she croaked.

Willas modestly looked at the floor, scuffing his feet. "It was the right thing to do. Any other decent man would have done the same."

She knew that was not true. A warm ball of emotion kindled inside Alayne's chest. She had been rescued before, by Petyr, and before that, in the other life, by a dwarf, and even by a hound… but never by a rose. Alayne made her eyes focus on Willas's.

"I cannot thank you enough," she whispered with a leaden tongue. She was delirious, vaguely aware of anything but Willas. She knew she had been bundled up in rich furs and woollen sheets, and she could see a fire burning in the hearth.

She felt his warm hand brush hers fleetingly once more. "No need for thanks, Lady Stone."

Alayne smiled, her eyes fluttering shut. "…The snow was nice, wasn't it?"

She heard Willas laugh, a tiny puff of air through his nostrils. "Yes, yes it was. Beautiful." He lowered his voice. "I could not have wished for a better introduction to the snow. Though, perhaps without this unfortunate mishap."

A giggle escaped Alayne. "… I'm glad you enjoyed it…" she yawned, fighting unconsciousness.

"You shall have to help me experience my first snowball war, next time," said Willas gently, humour lingering in his voice.

"… Lord Willas, I think our Alayne needs her rest. Come along, let's leave her to sleep," Petyr clapped his hands together, leading Willas out of the chambers.

"I'm fine…" Alayne protested sleepily. Her eyelids grew heavy. "… just fine…"

"Feel better, Alayne," Willas whispered. "Sleep well."

When Alayne woke again, it was only Petyr who was beside her bed. A vague sense of disappointment ran through her. Where did her rescuer go?

"How do you feel, lovely daughter?" Petyr asked softly, his voice echoing through her aching head.

Alayne tried to sit up in the bed, heaving her heavy, chilled bones. Petyr swiftly draped yet another fur around her, encasing her with his arms. He lingered in the position for a while, and lifted his hand, smoothing Alayne's burnt-brown hair with the back of his hand.

"My poor daughter," he soothed. "My poor, strong daughter. Is there anything I could bring you? Anything at all? Some hot ale, some food?"

Alayne shivered, though she was not sure if it was simply because she was cold. "I'm fine, thank you, father." She looked down at herself, lifting the fur she lay beneath. She was dressed in a thick woollen shift that she had not been wearing that morning- how had she gotten changed?

"We had to remove your wet dress as quickly as possible to prevent you from freezing." It was as if Petyr had read her mind. Her eyes widened at the word "we."

"We?" She was horrified. Petyr had seen her bare? WILLAS had seen her bare?

Petyr laughed lightly, as if it was nothing to see a woman bare. To him, it probably was nothing. The thought of Petyr seeing her bare made Alayne's skin prickle. "The handmaidens, of course! A figure of speech," he said, though his tone hinted otherwise.

Alayne tried to let the thought go. Gingerly, she swung her shaking legs over the side of the bed, hoisting herself to her feet. Petyr held her by the shoulders.

"How does that feel?" he asked softly. "Can you stand on your own?"

"Good, I think." Alayne pulled away from Petyr's grasp, her legs trembling. She didn't fall, to her relief. "I think it's just the cold that's making me shake." She sat back down on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands together.

"We must keep you warm. I don't want you falling ill, especially with such an important guest with us," Petyr sat down on the bed beside her, resting his cool hand on hers. "You do understand he is important, yes?"

Alayne raised an eyebrow at him. "You have taught me to be clever, father. Of course I understand that he is important. He's a Tyrell."

Petyr smiled, the smirk not quite reaching his eyes. "My clever girl." He stressed the word "my" ever so slightly. It made Alayne uncomfortable. "Now, clever daughter, something you must understand about Tyrell's… I'm sure you know this already, you knew Queen Margaery… The Tyrell's cannot be trusted. With anything." His voice dropped low, a rumbling purr.  


"I know, Father." Willas seemed different, though. But she couldn't take any risks. "He may have saved me, but I know if I trusted him, it would just end with me being found." She paused. "But what have they to find?"

"Nothing, except for my beautiful, clever natural-born daughter," Petyr approved. His eyes trailed from her eyes to her lips. "Now, how about a kiss for your worried father? I had thought you would not return to us."

Alayne, as always, did her duty, leaned in to peck his smooth-skinned cheek. But, just as her lips were about to meet his skin, he turned his head, and their lips met, his mint-scented breath hot on her cool lips.

Her eyes opened in shock. Alayne tried to pull away, but he had her in his grasp. His hand grazed her thigh lightly, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her skin. She squirmed slightly, and Petyr took it for reciprocation, and deepened the kiss. Unbidden, she sunk into the kiss, trying in vain to leave her body.

It felt as if it had lasted hours before he broke away.

She heard his breaths, deep and raspy. Aroused. She forced the bile in the back of her throat back down. This should not keep happening. Had the last kiss not taught Petyr anything?  
She was frozen as he thumbed her sensitive bottom lip. "Try to get some rest, Alayne." He stood up, and without another word, left Alayne sitting on the bed, feeling sullied and even colder than before.

She waited until he had left, the heavy door creaking shut, to vigorously scrub her mouth clean.


	5. Remember who you serve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! I've been so busy, but fret not, this story will not be abandoned- it's only just getting started! Enjoy this chapter, more are coming x

Alayne woke to the sound of an eagle's screech, from the bird that soared and glided just outside her chamber window. Her body felt weak. Her fall through the ice the day before had been awful- but it would have been worse if Willas Tyrell had not been there to carry her back to the castle.

Willas Tyrell. Willas Tyrell was a pleasant presence in the Vale, Alayne could not deny. More than pleasant, she thought to herself. His manners echoed her own, his cheerful demeanour a welcome guest- his dimpled smile brightened the winter weather, the dreary chambers, the dim, stone hallways.

He was almost enough to distract Alayne from the annoyance that was her cousin Robert Arryn, and the underlying sense of unease that grew each day whenever Alayne was left alone with her "father." The kiss he had left lingering on her lips ceased to leave, the scent of mint seemingly impossible to scrub off her tender lips.

Alayne jolted from her haze of sleep after a gentle knock on her chamber door. "Lady Stone?"

Willas. Alayne launched herself to her feet, tottering on her weak legs. She caught a glimpse of her sleep-dishevelled hair and the purple rings beneath her eyes in her looking glass, and groaned. Her sleeping shift was slipping down over her shoulder, revealing the creamy white skin beneath. She couldn't let Willas see her like this!

"Hold on a moment!" Alayne flattened her hair desperately, and scoured the room for something to wrap around herself. Her cloak had been taken to dry in the winter sun, so she made do with the heavy fur blanket from her bed. She wrapped it about her shoulders. It was better than nothing.

Alayne took a deep breath, and approached the door. She pinched her cheeks to give them more colour, and opened the door with one hand to prevent the blanket from falling.

Willas's beaming smile appeared, his face lighting up. "You're alive! Praise the gods," He crowed. His eyes travelled down Alayne's body, taking in the fur wrapped precariously about her shoulders. "I must say, your cloak looks remarkably like the fur from your bed."

Alayne blushed furiously. "You caught me whilst I was still abed, and my cloak has been taken," she sputtered.

Willas chuckled. "The bedcover becomes you, Lady Stone. May I come in?" Alayne nodded, stepping aside. Willas hobbled over to her unmade bed. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Oh, no, of course, sit!" Alayne stood awkwardly holding the blanket around herself. "Lord Willas, I cannot thank you enough after yesterday… I could have been killed, if not for you. How did you carry me? I mean, with your leg…"

Willas raised his eyebrows at her as he sat on the featherbed. "You would believe that I would simply let you freeze, Lady Stone? Is that the way of it?" Alayne heard laughter in his voice. "I must say, you have little faith in me."

"You mustn't turn my words around like that, Lord Willas," Alayne suppressed a giggle. "I simply meant… it must have been difficult to carry my weight, as I was waterlogged and frozen, and your leg... it must have been painful!"

Willas lifted his cane into his lap, rolling the polished wood around in his pale, rough fingers- Alayne noticed that only the fingertips of his left hand were calloused. She put it down to Willas reading constantly- she'd noticed the same affliction on someone else, a husband from another life. For a fleeting moment she imagined what it would feel like to have that calloused hand run over her own smooth bare skin- she bit her lip and forced the thought away.

"You are right, Lady Stone," Willas' voice jolted her back into reality, "it was painful. But not as painful as the thought of your absence from the Eyrie."

Alayne's stomach fluttered. "You are very kind to say so, Lord Willas." She scuffed her bare feet on the stone floor, hoisting up the fur around her shoulders. "I cannot thank you enough for saving me."

Willas smiled, his eyes soft, and goose-bumps rose on Alayne's skin. "The other night I told you that you were quiet. And you are. But it makes hearing you speak that much more exquisite," he began, his voice full of wonder. "I may have saved you, Lady Stone; but I feel that you are a woman who does not need saving often. I sense a strength in you, and intelligence- types of strength and intelligence that cannot be replicated."

Alayne was lost for words. No one had ever, in her life, told her that she was strong (besides Petyr, but he didn't count), let alone clever. But Petyr's words from the night before echoed through her mind.

The Tyrell's cannot be trusted. With anything.

"Your words are honestly too kind, Lord Willas," Alayne stammered, her eyes avoiding his. "Your smile and sense of humour have brought warmth to the Eyrie, and I cannot repay you for the courage you showed yesterday for my benefit."

Willas leaned heavily on his cane, and pulled himself to his feet, wincing. "Perhaps… perhaps you could repay me by breaking your fast with me in the Crescent Chamber? You need sustenance, Lady Stone- and I hear you have a fondness for lemoncakes." The dimple that Alayne had noticed in Willas's cheek appeared fleetingly.

Alayne could not help but agree. "Of course. Though, I may have to dress… I don't believe a fur bedcover is suitable attire for the child of Lord Baelish."

"I personally like the fur." Willas clapped his hands together with glee. "Lovely! I'll make sure that there are lemoncakes hot on the trencher. I… I will leave you to, hm, dress. Yes. Good." Willas made his way slowly towards the door, cane clicking on the floor.

Alayne turned her back, smiling inwardly- he called me strong, she mused, he called me clever. She shed her fur and chose a simple dress in midnight blue, lacing it up herself, achingly. She brushed her long, coppery-brown hair until it shone… her forehead creased when she saw the auburn roots creeping in around her temples. She would need more dye, and soon, lest she be discovered.

Once she was ready, she made her way down the winding corridor to the Crescent Chamber, the Eyrie's reception hall, where Willas, Petyr and Robert all sat breaking their fast. Petyr swept over to Alayne, planting a moist, mint-scented kiss on her cheek. Alayne fought the urge to shiver, remembering the kiss he's given the night before.

"My beautiful daughter is awake at last!" he purred, resting a hand on the small of her back possessively, leading her to a seat. When she saw that Willas was watching that hand carefully, her face burnt hot. "You must eat, Sweetling, get your strength back up. Today you and Myranda must tend to Lord Willas' men- they will need feeding, and their horses will need tending to."

Alayne was aghast. Why should she have to do the tasks of a stable boy? "But… but P- father, I am not skilled in those… areas. Can the stable boy not perform these tasks?" she tried not to sound like she was complaining in front of Willas. She glanced at him. "I mean… Lord Willas' mean deserve the best, and I would certainly not give the best."

Petyr's moustache jumped in a small smirk. "Actually, Lord Willas requested you himself," he said, furtively stroking her lower back.

Alayne was shocked. She looked over at Willas, who was trying to not smile. "I must say, I believe you have the best skills in hospitality in the Eyrie, Lady Stone." His eyes glinted mischievously. Alayne narrowed her eyes at him, but the edge of her lips curled up slightly.

Petyr, witnessing the eye contact, cleared his throat. "Alayne, I assure you, you can perform these tasks with ease." He sat her down across from his own seat. It was then that Alayne noticed young Robert seated beside her- she was surprised she had not been ambushed with a hug or a nuzzling. Robert was quiet, his cheeks pale and sticky, a subdued version of his already meagre self.

Alayne's eyebrows knitted in concern. Why is he constantly ill? The thought was edged with a sense of bitterness. "Sweetrobin, have you eaten?" she eyed the plate before him, laden with fruit and some cheese.

He turned his gaunt face to peer at her through rheumy eyes. "M'not hungry," he mumbled.

Alayne looked at Petyr, who shrugged. "He's been like this all morning. Little Lord, if you want to grow up big and strong, you must break your fast. Eat your cheese, and stop being so childish."

"To be fair, he is a child," Willas said softly, biting into an apricot. Alayne snorted, but put a stop to it when Petyr huffed through his nose with frustration.

Alayne leaned across to rest a hand on Robert's forehead, and gasped. "Father, he's so hot. Could you please fetch Randa? He must be seen to." She stroked Robert's sallow cheek. "You must try eating something, Sweetrobin. I don't want you wasting away," she said gently. She felt Willas' eyes on her, and she swore she saw him smile from the corner of her eye.

Petyr scratched the back of his neck. "Of course." He approached a maid who was bringing a plate of freshly baked bread from the kitchen. "Fetch Lady Royce, if you would," he ordered, before letting her place the bread on the table. "Tell her to find the nearest maester."

"Yes, M'Lord." She bobbed in a curtsy.

Willas got to his feet and hobbled over to take the bread from her hands. "Let me," he took the plate from her hands, beaming. The serving girl blushed gratefully, and turned to fetch Randa. Willas's face contorted in pain when she had turned her back.

Alayne could not help but admire his thoughtfulness, watching him fondly. Willas sensed her watching him and caught her eye. Her eyelashes lowered as her cheeks reddened. She turned back to young Robert, stooping in front of him.

"Sweetrobin? Are you feeling unwell?" She asked softly, smoothing his damp dark hair back from his clammy forehead.

"Mm," he replied. Alayne took that for a yes. At that moment, Myranda Royce bustled in, her round cheeks ruddy. Her chest was flushed, and a line of sweat beaded above her full top lip.

"What's amiss?" she wheezed, smoothing her dark hair. Petyr nodded towards Robert, who moaned quietly.

"He won't say. I'm guessing he feels unwell," he said flippantly.

"Oh no," Myranda simpered, crouching beside Alayne in front of Robert. "Does the little lord want to go back to bed? Shall I read him some of his favourite stories?"

At that, Robert perked up a little. "The one about Aegon the conqueror?" he croaked, his voice crackling with phlegm.

Myranda nodded. "The very one." Alayne helped Robert out of his chair and into Myranda's soft arms. "I've ordered the maester to meet us in Robert's chambers. I'm sure he'll be well again by this evening," she told Petyr.

"Very well. Make sure his shaking is seen to as well, I don't want another incident like that with the water pitcher happening again." Petyr walked them out of the Crescent Chamber, leaving Alayne and Willas alone. Alayne stood up straight, and sat herself across from Willas, an eyebrow raised.

Willas grinned, pushing a plate of fresh lemoncakes towards her. "I must say, I miss the fur already. You might want to eat, my lady. You will need energy to help tend to my men today."

Alayne pressed her lips together into a thin line. "I would ask why you've asked specifically for me to do this gruelling task, but I doubt you will give me a straight answer. No one gives me a straight answer." She selected a lemoncake and bit into it, letting the tart flavour of the lemon and the sweetness of the sugar melt in her mouth. She sighed contentedly. "Oh… these are delicious!"

"I told you before, Lady Stone, your skills in hospitality and your gentle soul are the very thing my men and their horses need. And I'm glad you like them, I asked them to be made for you especially. Your father told me you liked them; I can tell you're very close with him."

Alayne searched for words. She did not want to lie to Willas Tyrell- the false words always left a foul taste in her mouth. "He's such a good guardian to me; I don't know where I'd be without him." It wasn't a lie.

Willas leaned forward, listening earnestly. "My father is quite the opposite. A good man, but hardly a guardian; I had to learn how to be one myself so I could watch out for my siblings."

That rang a bell for Alayne. "Like when you saved Garlan from becoming Garlan the Gross!" she blurted, unthinkingly. As soon as she'd said it, she'd regretted it.

Willas laughed, but his eyes were confused. "Yes! Exactly- forgive me, how did you hear about that?" a line appeared between his eyebrows.

Yes, Alayne thought, how does a bastard girl from the Vale know about that? Garlan could hardly have told her hermself. Stupid, stupid.

"I… oh, well… my father knew Garlan, he told the story often…" Alayne stammered. Willas seemed sceptical.

"I see!" his smile was genuine, but something similar to curiosity remained behind his eyes. "Well, Lady Stone." He stood up shakily, and limped around to her chair. He held out his hand. "Shall we go and prepare for a large day ahead?"

Alayne gave a heavy, long-suffering sigh. "If I must!" She was surprised at her own humour- when was the last time she had made a jape? She could not recall. She placed her hand in Willas's, who helped her up. His hand lingered for a moment, trailing over the smooth plane of her hand.

"Such lovely hands," he said softly, examining it. He lifted his own up and compared it to hers- his was weathered and calloused from all his books and his cane, and hers was soft and pale. The pad of his thumb ran over her palm, causing her breathing to quicken. "They will not be as lovely after today," he chuckled.

Alayne caught his eye. The dim morning light shining through the high hall windows did not diminish the loveliness of Willas's features. "I am almost in fear of what you have planned for me," she replied, letting her eyes wallow in his, letting them travel over the lines of his face. A shiver went down her spine, a completely different sort to the one that Petyr initiated in her.

Willas had difficulty maintaining eye contact, and his eyes drifted over Alayne's shoulder. "I… we should leave if we are to be ready on time, my lady." He dropped his hand, and swiftly shuffled his way passed her, his cane clicking on the ground. Alayne felt a small pang in her chest- how abrupt, she thought, but when she turned she saw why.

Petyr stood at the door, holding it open for Willas. "Lord Willas," he nodded his head curtly, his voice low. Willas returned the gesture.

"Lord Baelish. My thanks." His voice was brusque, as he left as quickly as he could. Petyr let the door shut behind him, and turned to Alayne, a dangerously inquisitive smile on his face. He stroked his goatee, smoothly approaching her.

"My beautiful daughter." He stood until his face was mere inches from her own. "Are you remembering what I told you last night?"

Alayne swallowed. "I am remembering to tread carefully, Father." Her shoulders slumped, and a ball of hot shame burnt in her belly. "Lord Willas only wants my help, that is all."

Petyr ran the knuckles of his hand along her cheekbone. "And what do you want, Alayne?"

Alayne frowned. "I want only to serve him as he asks," she said quietly, "but it is you I serve foremost. You are my kin. My only kin."

"Indeed." Petyr's eyes trailed down to Alayne's chest, then back to her face. Alayne's stomach twisted. "Just remember who you are, Alayne. Remember who got you here, and remember who cares for you above all else," he purred. "Now go. Go and serve Willas's men."

Alayne curtsied swiftly and followed Willas out the door.


	6. I forget myself with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Gods.  
> I'M BACK. FROM THE DEAD. MELISANDRE HAS REVIVED ME AND I'M NOW A WARG IN MY GOLDEN RETRIEVER.  
> I'm so sorry for the late as update. I feel shit, but I've been so busy this year that I've legit had no time to write! But it's Summer in Australia so AWW YEAH. Willas/Sansa time.  
> I hope it was worth the wait- I made it extra long for y'all. Enjoy.  
> -Scarlett x

Jerkin, breeches, and leather riding boots. Alayne felt that she looked more like a stable-boy than a lady of the Eyrie when she looked at herself in her looking glass. Why me? Alayne thought, as she weaved her dark hair into a tight braid that fell heavily down her back. Why has he chosen me for these tasks?

Willas had listed the errands for her as they'd left breakfast- he'd sounded more animated than usual, which, as he was usually overly enthusiastic, was definitely a unique moment. "First we must bring them the horses some food- they need their sustenance, as you know, being so large and all… but that's the easy part, the more difficult task will be the cleaning of the stables. But it won't be too exerting- you're still recovering, of course," Willas had babbled. "I won't forget that you're still recovering."

Alayne had been confused upon hearing the 'we.' "Lord Willas, forgive me, I'm a bit confused. You said 'we.'"

And he'd turned to her, sanguine, and said "I would never force such duties on you alone, Alayne!"

Alayne smiled to remember the incredulousness she'd sensed from him as she willingly agreed to perform these tasks. As she was lacing up her boots, she heard a rumble of thunder echo around her chamber walls. She hesitantly looked out the window, and groaned. An ominous black cloud loomed over the Vale, concealing the snow-capped peaks. A storm was coming.

She sighed as she left her chambers, feeling quite unlike herself in these new garments. She thought it must've been what another girl felt like, a long-faced girl with grey eyes and a hatred for dresses. But Alayne had never known that girl.

Alayne descended the winding Eyrie stairwell that led to the base of the stronghold that was the Eyrie. Willas was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, dressed rather similarly to Alayne, in breeches and a leather tunic. When he saw her, he stood up straighter, running a hand over his feathery hair.

"Lady… Lady Stone." His cheeks were flushed as his eyes travelled up and down her form. His eyes lingered on her tight jerkin, but not long enough for it to be noticeable. "You… seem as though you're prepared."

Alayne felt an odd tingling inside her, not unpleasant. Warmth at the base of her stomach, unfamiliar. "I hope so." They exited the entrance hall and began their descent. Willas's men had taken camp at the Bloody Gate- only two of his men had wanted to come up to the Eyrie with him. They were to remain in the castle, on Willas' orders.

On the stretch of precarious stone leading from the Eyrie to the Bloody Gates, Alayne could see a grand number of tents and men from above- hundreds, possibly thousands, of soldiers glinting in Tyrell armour were visible.

Alayne was agape. "Lord Willas, there's… simply thousands!" she whispered. She felt a spot of rain on the part of her hair. Willas looked up.

"Tyrell strongholds are known for our numbers. But we'll only be tending to my horses- which men you meet, I'll ensure they do not…" Willas coughed slightly. "Some of these men are not as… gently spoken as the men you have known."

Men I have known! Alayne guffawed. "Oh, Lord Willas, if you knew of the men I have known, you would not say such words."

Willas's eyes were wide, taken aback by Alayne's outburst. A large grin swept over his face. "I have heard you give an outburst of an absurd nature. I hope to hear more of those." A dark tone overtook the gentle eyes, pools of liquid amber crystallizing. "I hope these men you speak of have not brought you to harm."

Alayne pursed her lips, running a nervous hand down her thick braid. "None at all," she stated, making her way down the steepest part of the causeway without a look back. "I am not as weak as I seem, my Lord."

Willas shook his head, mortified. "I did not mean… no, I did not mean to suggest you were… you seem as though you have one of the strongest souls ever a lady had!" he struggled to find the words, but when he did, Alayne had her back turned.

"I know you did not mean to offend, Lord Willas." She did not let him view the gentle smile on her lips. "Let's keep going, my Lord.

After ascending and descending this path so many times, Alayne had sure feet- Willas, however, was left hovering at the top, watching the stones fall. The clouds above them continued to grow darker, their cumulous form and grey colouring looming ominously, wintry.

Alayne looked up at him. "Lord Tyrell?" He was closing his eyes. His skin had paled slightly, and he shook. "Lord Tyrell, what is amiss?"

His eyes remained closed. "It is nothing, I assure you. It's simply…" his eyes slowly opened, his jaw clenching. "I am not used to such heights, such with my leg..." He shook his head, his glossy curls falling over his forehead in a charmingly dishevelled manner.

Alayne was amazed. Never had she met a man who was afraid of heights. She clambered back up to the top of the path. "Is everything alright, My Lord?"

Willas nodded imperceptibly. "I'm perfectly fine, Alayne. Continue… my apologies, I've just…" he took a step down, a large rock tumbling beneath his feet. He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes tightly. His knuckles were white and he gripped his cane as if it were a vice.

"My Lord, let me help you." Alayne felt helpless. She had never witnessed a man at his most vulnerable- this was an entirely new experience for her. She reached out her hand. "Do not be embarrassed. Sweetrobin struggles with this, too."

His red, ashamed face conveyed an expression of pure humiliation, only slightly out won by the terror. Alayne's gloved hand hovered between them, an offer. His eyes met hers, and a sort of mutual understanding passed between the pair.

He took her hand, and let her coax him gently down the mountain with soft words and pedantic footing.

Once they'd reached the base, approximately a half hour later, Alayne and Willas were both thoroughly flustered. As the realisation that they'd reached the bottom came, a synchronised smile broke out on their faces.

"We're at the base, My Lord!" Alayne was jubilant. She took her sweaty hand from his and let it awkwardly hang between them.

Willas had been silent the entire descent, disgraced by his lack of courage. He lifted his eyes up to meet hers, soft and golden with gratitude. "Lady Stone, I cannot thank you enough for that." He leant heavily on his cane. "Truly. Whatever you would like, I will repay you. I would give you a place in the Tyrell household for that simple kindness."

Alayne blanched. Surely, he was japing. "My Lord… I, am… truly, it was a courtesy…"

Willas took her hand again. "I am sorry. That wasn't right of me to say. But I must repay you in some manner. I will find a way- anything you desire, a pendant, Myrish lace skirts, kidskin gloves…"

"No! I mean, no, thank you. I did it expecting nothing, My Lord." Alayne took her hand away, clasping her hands together in a gesture she could never seem to rid herself of. "I do hope we can ascend as easily."

Willas coughed. "Yes, yes, certainly… but I must say, I cannot truly expect you to understand the gratitude I feel right now, Lady Stone." at that, a gentle mist of rain began to fall. The tents of the nearest soldiers were only about fifty feet away from their spot. "Shall we?"

Alayne nodded. "Yes, of course. Horses, yes?"

They approached the camp, which was swarming with armoured and leather clad men, bearded and brawny. The clang of broadswords in training and the gruff laughter of drunken soldiers echoed around her. Alayne's stomach erupted into butterflies, being surrounded by people who reminded her so much of the kings guard at Kings Landing.

No. Alayne had never visited Kings Landing.

As the soldiers noticed Willas approached, they immediately got to one knee. "My Lord," they echoed one another. As small, hunched, pale a man as he was, as crippled, his presence was immense, respected. Not one soldier refused to get to his knee. The rain began to pour, heavier than it had been, and not a man moved.

Alayne smiled to herself, knowing that she helped this prestigious man descend a mountain while he shook. The regard in which Willas was held reminded Alayne so much of the soldiers of Margaery's queensguard that…

No! She bit her tongue in punishment for her thoughts. You have not met Margaery Tyrell, you stupid bastard girl. She wiped the droplets of rain from her hair.

"Greetings, men!" he hardly needed to shout, as the soldier's raucousness had diminished due to his presence. They mumbled a half-hearted greeting back. "Rise, men, rise. Where is Ser Garrett Flowers?"

"He is counting our supplies, My Lord. We fear we will run short of mead by nightfall," A homely knight with a broad, freckled face and fiery hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and rain replied. A wave of laughter rippled through the group.

"I see, Ser Hobber!" Willas regarded his knights. "Arise, good sers. I am not here to order you to ready the horses for travel, as we must remain here until we have found a further amount of forces through Lord Baelish. Ration the supplies as best you can. I'm simply here to tend to a few of the horses."

Alayne's stomach dropped. Hobber. That name, she knew. Slobber, one of the Redwyne twins she had seen at the wedding between Joffrey and Margaery. No, she had not seen this man before. She chided herself yet again. However, she lowered her blue eyes and prayed the dark hair would suffice as a veil which hid her.

"Who's this fine lass?" A voice boomed. "I bet her cunny tastes sweeter than any mead!" The men roared.

"Who is she, some whore?" Another voice chortled. "As if you'd be able to fuck her anyway."

"I'd bet she's one of Baelish's. Pretty, though. She up for bidding?"

Alayne let the words bounce off her. She was made of iron, and words could not pierce her armour. She was not worried for their words. She was terrified of Hobber's recognition. Willas's face, usually so bright and delighted, darkened. Evidently, not every soldier there harboured such respect for him, but that was always the way. The sun broke through the clouds, but it continued to rain, reminiscent of summer shower.

"You will not speak of Lord Baelish's natural daughter as such, Sers." His voice, unwavering, was silk hiding steel. He looked to Alayne. The men shook their heads, going back to their daily routine of training, sharpening swords, shoeing horses. All except Ser Hobber. He advanced towards Alayne and Willas. His dry lips pulled back over crooked teeth in some mockery of a grimace.

He nodded, a reassuring gesture. She recalled what he had said a few days earlier; you speak with your eyes. Alayne nodded back. I'm fine, it said. Do what you need to do.

"Where are the horses, Ser?" Alayne whispered hurriedly, her heart fluttering. She needed to escape, and with haste.

"Oh, of course! My apologies, the rain, gods be true, I'm sorry." He ushered her over to a tent that reeked of dung and straw. "In there, my lady. I must first speak with Ser Hobber."

Alayne soared into the tent, hoping her breeches and doublet would let her pass as a simple bastard girl. She was nauseous as she wondered what Hobber could be asking Willas. Her worries were almost immediately forgotten as she saw the horses.

The shit and straw covering the ground reminded her of the stables in another place, a better place. And the horses… there were at least a dozen cooped up inside this tent, their silken hides and untamed manes reminding Alayne of someone.

Another girl she'd known had been called horseface. A girl who wasn't beautiful like Alayne, but striking, wild, untamed. Horseface, horseface. Tears welled in her eyes.

Alayne's reverie was broken by the sound of the rain falling heavily on the tent roof, by the jostling grunts and groans of the men outside, and by Willas's voice.

"Alayne?"

Alayne started. "My Lord." She turned back to the horses, hoping her eyes were not shining.

"I apologise for the comments of my men. Their crudeness disgusts me."

"And Ser Hobber?"

Willas sniffed dismissively. "Interested in Littlefinger's motives." He shook his head. "I wanted to thank you again for helping me down the mountain. I'm truly embarrassed.

That surprised her. Littlefinger's motives? "Do not be embarrassed, My Lord. It is forgotten." She slowly approached one of the horses. "She's beautiful," Alayne whispered in admiration.

"She is," Willas agreed. His voice tremored slightly.

"Is she one of yours?" Alayne stroked the palomino's mane tenderly. The creature whickered softly. Willas nodded.

"Yes, in fact. Mine own. Bessie, she's called! My horses are my pride and my joy, if that does not sound too… pathetic, if you will. My hawks and my hounds as well! What can a crippled knight find joy in but able, loving creatures?" He hobbled towards Bessie. "Only half in here are ones I've bred, but the others are beautiful nonetheless!" An excited gleam appeared in his eyes. "Shall we feed them?

Alayne nodded. "My Lord, can I ask a question first?"

"By all means."

"Why me? Why am I the one helping you? Any other of your men could do this. It's a simple task. Why not one of them?"

Willas chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I wanted to show you my horses, I suppose."

Alayne still did not comprehend. "But why?"

"Your inquisitiveness is charming, Alayne." Willas turned to a barrel of grain, hoisting it up onto his hip. Alayne was surprised at his strength, but then she remembered how he had carried her to her chambers after falling through the ice.

"That's not an answer!" she replied, plaintive. Her smile betrayed her.

"Here." His own grin did not disappear as he offered the barrel. "Take some grain in your hand, and Bessie will eat it from your palm. Be careful of her teeth, though."

Alayne shook her head in exasperation, dipping her hand into the barrel and taking a handful of the grain. "Is this enough?"

"Perfect. Now, she likes you, I must say!" he chuckled softly. "Gently now."

Alayne had never done this before. She offered her hand to Bessie, who cautiously began to eat from Alayne's palm. Willas was silent as he watched her. The feeling of the horse's bristly lips was so odd that she giggled. "It tickles!"

Willas laughed. "You've never done this before, have you, My Lady?"

"No, I haven't. Father's horses are always fed straight from the barrels."

After feeding all the horses, Willas sighed. "I've told the men many a time to clean their horse's tents, but never once have they listened. I hope you do not mind helping me with this less graceful job. To be true, it's worse than Loras's chambers back in Highgarden."

"Lord Tyrell, it is my honour. I'm helping a Lord of one of the wealthiest families clean a stable. It is more than I deserve. And I could not picture him being so untidy," Alayne shook her head, her brown braid swaying.

"No one ever can. He's too pretty, my little brother." An affectionate tone took over his voice. "I miss my brothers, it's true."

Alayne understood that better than anyone.

Willas's eyebrows knitted together. "I hope I do not seem like an arrogant lord. And you deserve much better." He eyed a pile of clean hay in the corner. "We must replenish the hay before the stench overwhelms us!"

They each picked up an armful of hay. Some of it stuck to Alayne's undershirt. "Should we just spread it over the old hay?"

"Yes, that's a good idea. Considering we'll be departing soon, anyway." Those words cut Alayne like a dagger. Willas couldn't leave that quickly, could he? He just blew into her life. He was a friend. He couldn't leave that quickly.

"Not too quickly, I hope."

"You do not want us to leave?" he was genuinely shocked. "Why ever not? I know whenever a stronghold comes to Highgarden, I want them to leave as soon as possible. It's so stressful."

"I suppose." Alayne dropped the hay, spreading it around. She picked a piece of hay from her shirt, flicking it. It landed on Willas's surcoat.

"You just sullied a lord, Alayne."

Something Alayne didn't recognise took over her. Alayne knew he was japing. She picked up another handful of hay and showered his surcoat in the crisp yellow grass. "I have sullied no one before. Why should I wait any longer?"

Willas's laugh was uncultured and boisterous and beautiful. He armed himself with his own hay and covered Alayne with it. "A battle is only a battle if both sides participate. I will not surrender to you, my Lady."

Alayne's stomach hurt from laughing so hard. "Do you want to be killed in battle, My Lord? With a leg such as yours?" She whirled her ammunition at him as he turned his back, the ball of straw clinging to his curls satisfyingly.

"My leg was destroyed in a tourney, not a battle. I am an able fighter!" they were yelling now, uninhibited, children again. A memory of a snowball fight from long ago re-emerged from the depths of her mind-only then had she felt such childlike joy.

A Lord and a child of a Lord, throwing straw at each other like commoners.

Alayne's courtesy, her manners, those that made her who she was, they disappeared- she raced up to Willas, attempting to shower his head in hay, when he spun around unexpectedly on his crushed leg, and in a desperate attempt to stay upright, he grabbed Alayne's jerkin and pulled her down.

"Seven hells!" Willas cried as his leg went out from underneath him.

They landed with a soft thud on the hay, side by side. Both red faced and sweating, they looked at each other. His face was twisted in a grimace.

"Is your leg alright, my lord?" Alayne asked, remembering herself. She was almost embarrassed after what had just happened.

"Fine." He replied. "I must say… I cannot believe we just did that." Willas breathed. He began to laugh.

Alayne caught sight of his unruly hair, filled with straw, and could not help but joining him. When they both quietened, they sat up and brushed themselves off. He turned his head to face her.

"I… I cannot explain what came over me just now, My Lady." His voice was quiet. "I'm a man of twenty and eight, and you made me feel like I was no more than ten years old."

The heat in the bottom of Alayne's stomach grew. You cannot trust a Tyrell. Petyr's voice echoed in her mind. She remembered when she'd spied on him, seeing his bookkeeper's body, slender and pale, through the crack in the chamber door. She remembered the ice incident, and how he'd carried her.

"You made me forget, for a moment, that I am a Lord. That I am a cripple."

"You have made me forget about my father, and Sweetrobin. About everything." And she meant it. All the pain, all the horror she had witnessed. It had evaporated in those minutes with Willas.

The words hung in the air, suspended. The silence was deafening.

Willas broke it, the silence shattering like glass. "I may have only known you for only a little time, Alayne. But there's something so intriguing… so beautiful about you that I cannot spend enough time with you. Our friendship has blossomed so quickly that I simply need to see you more."

Alayne swallowed. "I… I would like that."

Willas was so close to her, his heat radiating from his flushed skin. His coppery eyes bored into hers, seeing all. She couldn't trust herself. She was a bastard, and that was all. She could not trust this man, no matter what was happening within her stomach, within her throat.

Alayne cleared her throat. "I must… we must get back to the Eyrie, My Lord. My father will be wondering why we've been gone so long."

"Oh… oh, of course, My Lady. Apologies. I do not… my apologies. Yes, let's return." His jaw clenched.

The rain fell, and the moment was over.


	7. Sombre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this has been a busy year. BUT I'M BACK GUYS. They're back! Strongly recommend reading the other chapters or skimming them again before reading such a rare new chapter! Hope you enjoy guys xx sorry about the long ass wait!

A week had passed, and Alayne could not forget her shared moment in the stables with Willas Tyrell. How foolish she had been, letting him see her frivolity, her idiocy. Her freedom.

A week had passed since their last proper séance in the hay. She was hurt, though she knew she had no right to be; Willas had not so much as spoken a single word to her besides "Good morrow." At supper he avoided her eyes, though she felt his on her as she looked away. He spoke of matters dogmatic with Petyr, matters in the North, Kings Landing, Essos, and she had noticed the brightness of his eyes had weakened with every passing day, the pain of his leg worsened with each step.

Alayne often heard Lord Tyrell, Petyr, Lord Royce and interchangeable Tyrell knights conversing on matters of politics and war; Alayne was not permitted into the chamber wherein they discussed tactics to hold off the impending Ironborn ambush, but Petyr gave her insight afterwards; the new Ironborn 'king,' named Euron Greyjoy intended to ensnare the Reach, having successfully taken the Shield Island for himself.

"What are his true purposes for invading the Reach, though?" Alayne enquired at hearing this. Her stomach twisted when she realised this was Theon Greyjoy's own uncle. As much as she wanted to hate Theon, she could not, for Petyr had enlightened her of the fact he had not killed her brothers, and was caught in a rather sorry situation in a destroyed Winterfell with the ruthless bastard of Roose Bolton.

"He wishes to seize the Iron Throne for himself, sweetling. As all newborn monarchs do. According to Lord Tyrell, who has heard word of mouth from Hewett sources, he also wishes to conquer Westeros with Daenerys Targaryen's dragons," Petyr chuckled at that. "To me, he sounds as ambitious as myself yet with the wits of Lollys Stokeworth and the brutishness of the Mountain. However, he is a threat, as he is a dangerous man, as all Greyjoys seem to be."

Alayne pondered this information carefully. "So what is the plan of action?"

"Lord Willas has sent word to Leyton Hightower to increase the Oldtown defences, alongside sending a raven back to Highgarden for Garlan Tyrell to send out defence to all strongholds, Tyrell supports or not, around the Reach. Lord Royce has sent word to Kings Landing about the matter, but it is supposed that Tommen would not be of much use. Cersei, however, may see reason, if she has not fallen into madness as of late."

Alayne was nauseated at the sound of the Queen Regent's name. Her palms were slick with sweat. "Lord Royce does not… know…"

"About what, Sweetling?" Petyr winked. "That I have a bastard daughter named Alayne? Indeed he does. What else might he know?" As he stood up from his seat, he kissed Alayne's forehead. "You are safe with me," he whispered, his breath cool on Alayne's face. Mint, always mint. He swept out of her chambers without another word.

How difficult for Willas to be so far from home when his stronghold needs him most, Alayne thought. Surely Petyr had enough men to supply them with to hold off the Ironborn.

After supper that evening, Alayne had put Robin to sleep with a sweetmilk and a story. She had learnt how to gently fight him off her breasts as he searched for suck, but weaning him proved incredibly difficult; even Myranda struggled. "Alayne, he starts to shake when I don't, I just have to," she had whispered to Alayne as he dozed off.

Alayne wandered down the spiralling staircase to the winding corridors that led to her chambers. It was dark already, and her footsteps made echoes around the emptiness as she walked.

The silence was broken when a hand suddenly grabbed her arm from behind her. Alayne yelped, startled, spinning around to see Willas, his large eyes even wider with shock.

"Apologies! Apologies, Alayne, I did not set out to frighten you," he drew his hand away sharply. Alayne's stomach flipped; she had not seen him properly since their folly in the hay. His golden eyes crinkled at the edges as he beamed at her.

"No, do not be sorry, my Lord, I simply was startled," she replied gently, a smile creeping onto her face, unbidden. "I… I feel as if we have not talked for a long time."

Willas walked with her down the dark corridors. She was wary of this; she had often been told by her septa as a child to not walk in the dark with men she hardly knew. But Alayne did not feel in the least danger with Willas Tyrell, whose cane clacked rhythmically against the stone beneath them.

"I agree, Lady Stone. Too long," he smiled. "I have been so busy, I'm sure your father has told you what is amiss near Highgarden."

"He has. I cannot imagine how much stress that puts on you, my Lord." They had reached her chambers. Willas looked at his feet.

"I'm not sure if I am allowed to feel stress, Lady Stone." His voice was tinged with melancholy. Alayne had heard it as soon as he spoke, for it was a contrast with his habitually bright and vivacious personage.

"My Lord, is ought amiss? You seem… sombre this evening." She opened the heavy door to her chambers. Willas shook his head, his curls glossy in the candlelit threshold.

"I cannot enter again, Lady Stone, it is… improper of a man such as I," he smiled sadly, and it almost broke Alayne's heart. She wanted to see him smile again, as he usually did. She took a deep breath, feeling brave. She rested a tender hand on his wrist.

"I only want to hear why the brightest soul I have met has been dampened."

Willas' eyes caught hers, his lips twitching up at one side. "You truly believe that my soul is bright, Lady Stone?"

"I only speak the truth, My Lord." Alayne entered her chambers, whilst Willas feebly protested, eventually following her in. He sat on her large, supple leather chair beneath the window whilst she sat across from him on the edge of her featherbed.

"Well?" She coaxed. "You have been different as of late, Lord Tyrell. I wish to understand, simply that. Nothing more. This is a conversation between… friends. I hope you consider me a friend." She was intrigued by him, though she knew she couldn't be. These were dangerous waters she sailed. Alayne was braver than Sansa Stark, it seemed.

Willas tented his fingers, fidgeted. "I have not spoken to you for the last seven days. I feared we had become too… close." His dark eyebrows formed a crease between them. "I hope I had not offended you with my absence, Alayne, or my seeming avoidance of you."

Alayne gaped. He had called her Alayne. She wondered briefly how another name would sound on his scholarly tongue, an old name… not her name, another girl's name. "I understand that you have been busy, my lord. I am not a priority in your life; I am not of importance to a lord of Highgarden, and I know that, I accept that. You have not offended me, and I am flattered, my Lord, truly." She swallowed, paused. "I was slightly… I cannot describe it. Not hurt, because I had no right to be, but confused, I suppose."

Willas ran his hand through his hair. "You have every right to be hurt." His hands travelled down to his chin as he looked at Alayne. "I cannot stop thinking about our folly in the hay. The way you helped me down the rocks, our ice incident." He laughed softly. "I wished to separate myself from you, but I saw you leaving Robin this evening and I could not…" he sighed heavily.

Could not what? "I understand, My Lord. You are a Lord; you are not obliged to spend your evening with me, or any time at all. You have important matters to attend to, Euron Greyjoy being foremost."

Willas guffawed. "Obliged?" he shook his head, angry, not at her but at something. She was taken aback. "I am not obliged to spend time with the illegitimate daughter of Littlefinger. I was obliged to avoid you because it is not right of me. I have other matters to attend to and a stronghold I must needs return to and a battle to organise. But Alayne, I must say, all that is forgotten when I am near you. Euron Greyjoy, Cersei Lannister, everything."

He was breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Alayne's heart was thrumming at those words. "I did not mean to be a distraction."

"Of course you did not. I do not blame you. This is but a harmless flirtation to you, I suppose."

"I do not flirt, my Lord." Alayne stood up, clasping her hands together as she approached her mirror. The girl in the mirror's blue eyes were alight, but she could see red roots creeping in at her part, betraying her. She could see him behind her mirror, watching her intently; she was wearing her blue dress with silver silk trimming, which hugged her figure but not too closely. "And there is no harm in our friendship. Do you think there is harm?"

Willas, grabbing his cane, followed her, clack, clack, clack. "Yes," he whispered over her shoulder.

Alayne turned from the mirror to face him. Willas' face was not as beautiful as Loras'; but it was sharp, angular, with soft eyes that searched Alayne's own desperately. "There is harm in this." Willas was so quiet, and Alayne was overwhelmed by the look of him, the closeness of him. His hand tentatively rose to graze Sansa's cheekbone, so soft it was hardly there. "

His lips were so close. Willas' hand was a ghost on the small of her back. It was so dark, but Alayne's body had ignited. Alayne's breath caught in her throat. His eyes were burning into her, questioning. She could not lie to him. She had to lie to him. She could not do this. She pulled away. "I… My Lord, I am sorry, but I…"

Willas turned from her, his hand scratching the back of his neck. "Idiot," he said to himself. "No, I am sorry, Lady Stone. I truly am, I should not have acted so… improperly. Just know, I would never touch you unless you allowed me to. I would never. You are my companion, that is all." He shook his head at his own actions.

Oh, but I would allow you to, Alayne thought. The words rested behind her lips. "I am sorry I have made you sad, my Lord."

Willas hovered by the door, leaning heavily on his cane. "Tis not your fault, Lady Stone." He paused. "I… must needs return to Highgarden on the morrow."

Alayne balked. She felt a lump in her throat block her airways. "Oh," she managed. "I understand."

Willas nodded. "I just… needed to tell you tonight. That is the true reason for my sombre demeanour. But Alayne," his voice was shaking, "you are magnificent. Intelligent. Beautiful, and so kind. You have been a truly wonderful companion, I must say." He bit his lip. "Thank you. For everything." He took her hand, kissing it softly. He lingered there for a moment too long.

Alayne's eyes burnt. "It has been an… honour, My Lord."

Willas winced. "Please. Say my name, once more."

"Willas." Alayne's voice cracked as his smile engulfed his face, all features taking part. But his eyes were sad.

"Goodbye, Alayne."


	8. perhaps we could

Alayne let no tears fall that evening. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and dressed herself in her nightclothes. She would forget it in the morning, and Willas and his men would be gone, and she could continue her life as Alayne Stone, marry Harry the Heir as Petyr, her "father" had planned and live a lie eternally. She snuggled down under her soft covers, her jaw tight as she fought back emotions she did not comprehend.

She could not live like this. Petyr kissing her, touching her. She knew what he really wanted, she saw it in the way he watched her, the way his eyes hungrily deoured each curve of her figure. She could not marry Harry the Heir, as handsome as he was; she had no reason for her aversion to him. He was comely, charming, strapping, everything she could desire.

Not everything. She sat up. Inhaled, exhaled.

Weak, she thought as she threw off the coverlet so sit on the side of the bed and pull her boots on, you're weak. Was she doing this, for true? Alayne had told herself over and over again that she would not call like a raven for a boy.

But no- She would be a wolf. She would be brave.

She slipped out of her chambers, pulling up her hood to cover her head. She would not risk Petyr or a serving girl seeing her do such a silly thing; she was incognito, and would remain as quiet and as sly as a shadow. Alayne walked as lightly as she could, as light as a young fawn; she swept down the corridor which led to the other side of the Moon Tower, where Willas' temporary chambers lay. Alayne could hear blood beating through her face, the night air cold in her windpipe painful as she took heavy, excited breaths. She had reached him without being seen.

She stood outside his chambers, suddenly questioning herself. She couldn't truly be doing this, could she? She couldn't trust a Tyrell. But she did, she did trust him. Her own stupidity shocked her, but her instinct said otherwise; that she could trust in her own sense.

She knocked tentatively.

From inside, she heard a grunt and a weary sigh. He was in his bed- she did not want to make him move in his condition.

Alayne burst through the door, closing it gently behind her. Willas sat on the side of his bed, his curls in disarray, garbed in his simple nightclothes. His leg was free of any covering; the misshapenness of the limb did not take away his gentle beauty, but enhanced it. His sleepy eyes went round as he squared his shoulders, fumbling for his cane. Alayne pulled down her hood, smiling nervously.

"Alayne?" he asked, startled, serious eyebrows softening. A smile threatened to overtake his face. His sharp nose was silhouetted by the moons dim glow, and Alayne had to swallow her fear, her exhilaration.

"My lord, I am sorry for disturbing you. But I…" Alayne approached the bed.

"No, I… I am sorry you, um, have to witness me in such a state…" his cheeks burnt red as he eyed his leg.

"My Lord, I see no difference in you," she realised she was shaking. "I understand that you are departing on the morrow, but I… had to see you before you left."

"I do not mind, my lady," he was nervous, too. "I am leaving at first light." Alayne sat down beside him. She could not breathe. Her mind grew cloudy as she hyperventilated.

"Alayne? Alayne, stay with me," his voice was calm, far away. "Alayne." His hands on the side of her face. Soothing stroking of her hair. "Alayne, tell me, what is wrong? Why have you come here?" His voice was tinged with a sadness, but also a wistfulness, a sense of hope.

Alayne grounded herself by focussing on Willas' face, his large, intelligent eyes searching, pleading, his sharp cheekbones an austere contrast to his gentle nature. She felt as if she was choking.

"I have to… I want to know that I can trust you." Her voice trembled.

Willas let his hands drop from her face. His face grew even more serious, his angular jaw setting stoically. "More than you could imagine."

Alayne shook her head. "I want to trust you so much," her mouth was dry, "but I don't know if I can." Her sweaty palms grasped the cover of the featherbed. "I feel..." I don't want you to leave, she thought.

"Alayne, you're confusing me." After a moment, an expression of shock and horror overcame his face. "You are with child. Oh, Alayne, if I had known you were…" shame overcame his features, embarrassment radiating from his voice. "I am truly sorry."

"No, not that, I am not with child," she shuddered. He sighed quietly with relief. "But it is grave, and I must understand that you are not as conniving or as untrustworthy as Littlefinger or…" your family. She trailed off.

Willas took her hands in his. "I am not… my family. I am a bookkeeper, a dog admirer, a hawk breeder. I am alone at Highgarden without Garlan there. I have no one to tell anything, but I swear on my honour, Alayne, I am trustworthy. I cannot stop thinking about before. I had wanted… I had wanted…" he looked at their hands.

Alayne bit the inside of her cheek. She felt as if her supper was going to escape her mouth. "My Lord, I am not what… or who you think I am."

"I…" His forehead creased in bewilderment. "I had often thought perhaps that may be the case. You seem to understand politics and the true nature of the world better than most." He breathed out heavily through his nose, the cold air creating a steam. "Is… your name truly Alayne?"

This was it. Every nerve was tingling as she shook her head slowly.

Willas nodded. "I see," a thoughtful look crossed his face. "And you are not Littlefinger's bastard, then."

Sweat beaded on Alayne's forehead, pooled at the base of her spine. Willas tented his fingers pensively. "You are not lowborn, pretending to be of higher birth. I can tell by the way that you speak. I feel it is quite the opposite," he was thinking out loud. "But why? I do not understand why a… beautiful lady of good birth would pretend to be the daughter of an up-jumped Master of Coin."

She was so close. It rested on her tongue. "It was safer for me. But I do not feel safe with him anymore." The fear in her voice was tangible, the space between them hardly there.

He licked his lips. Willas' unruly curls were trembling. Perhaps he was afraid too. "Who are you, Alayne?"

Unfallen tears of terror rested on the brim of her eyes. "I am afraid."

Willas reached a hesitant hand around to the nape of her neck, and rested his forehead against hers. "I know. As am I," his voice was so low. "I am scared of leaving you when I feel as if I have known you my entire life. I am scared of losing … the woman I have grown…."

Before he could finish his sentence, his lips crushed hungrily against hers. Alayne was in such shock that she did not realise for a few moments what was happening. His lips were so soft, his hands entwining in her hair. Alayne reached up to grasp the back of his neck, pull him closer. He tasted of grape wine and the warm smell of candlewax emitted from his skin. Heat gathered in the base of her stomach as he deepened the kiss. How she had wanted this, for so long, she had wondered…

"I have been searching for this for so long," said Willas, his thumb trailing down her lips. "You do not know how much I have wanted to do that."

"I think I do," Alayne replied. "I did not know what… it felt like, I have not…" she remembered her only kisses, rough Sandor Clegane, Petyr's mint-scented breath, without feeling. They were all so incredibly different, but this, this was entirely new. And very, very pleasant.

As Willas took a gasp of air, he whispered, "I do not care what name you hold. I lost myself completely to you when we first went on the ice." His hands rested lightly on her waist as she continued the kiss, feeling less fear than before, only thrilling anticipation. Willas gave a small moan, and Alayne quivered at the sound.

Willas pulled away, and took another sharp intake of breath. "If you are not illegitimate, it does not matter, does it?" excitement grew in his voice. "Alayne, perhaps we… perhaps we could…"

"Please, my lord," Sansa breathed into his ear. "please call me Sansa. Sansa Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol totes not based of ITV Victoria's Ernest. I AM THE SLOWEST OF THE SLOW BURN


	9. I could be good to you

He hadn't spoken for about five minutes.

Their kiss had stopped with a jolt, bile rising in Sansa's throat at the realisation that she had admitted a life threatening secret to a Lord whose sister was the Queen. The heat of the moment had dissipated into frozen silence.

Sansa's heart was in her mouth, and she clutched at his hand, trembling like a leaf. "Speak to me, Willas." Her voice was feeble.

Willas' face was, in a word, shocked. He turned his head to her, his large golden eyes boring into Sansa's own. "Sansa…" he whispered, his breathing erratic.

Sansa smiled softly at the sound of her name, her real name, on his lips. "Yes?"

Willas attempted to form words. "I cannot… I do not believe… how do I know you're telling the truth?" He ran a hand through his hair, not able to look at her for too long. "I had heard, I had heard Sansa Stark was beautiful, and gentle, but not…" he was thinking on his feet. "I had heard she had fled Kings Landing after Margaery's wedding."

Sansa took his hand. "It is why I came here tonight. To tell you. You know that I am highborn. I am not the daughter of Littlefinger- he is my…" what is he to me? She thought. If he found out that she had told Willas, he would be furious.

Willas blanched. "He is your…?"

"My protector," Sansa finished. "He smuggled me to the Vale after the events of Joffrey and Margaery's wedding. They believed it was Lord Tyrion and myself who poisoned him. Petyr did it in my best interests, to save me from surely a painful demise at the hands of the Queen Mother." Sansa gently squeezed Willas' arm, imploring him to believe her, trust her. It dawned on her what she must say. "I was married to Lord Tyrion when I was led to believe I was to wed a man named Willas Tyrell."

It was then that his face altered, the austere lines of his mouth and eyes softening into a shock and amazement that was tangible. He swallowed. "Only Margaery, Garlan, Loras, father and grandmother knew of that plan," he shook his head in awe. "Alayne, I mean… Sansa," his voice was hesitant, "I do not feel as if I know who you are. Are you a façade? Or have I seen you?"

Alayne's stomach plummeted. "You have seen, my lord, the innermost parts of me. As Sansa, I am obliged to put up battlements and walls to protect myself. As Alayne, I could be the real Sansa, if you will. No one has seen the true me since… well, Tyrion, I suppose. And even then I could not truly be myself, as he was a Lannister; the best of them, indeed, but a Lannister all the same. You are the first person I have let see me, Lord Willas." She spoke breathlessly, trying to outrun her lie. "The first."

She realised he had taken her hand back in his. "I had been told I was a pawn in a plan to marry the estranged Stark girl," he laughed quietly, "I was told she had auburn-red hair."

"Essos provides such amazing dyes, my lord." She giggled.

"I should love to see it in its beauty one day," he continued. "I had refused the marriage proposal adamantly. I did not want to leave my library, or my stables, or my hawks or my dogs. If I had known that you were so… wondrous," he stroked her cheek, "I would have come before you had been forced to marry Tyrion." He absently touched his cane. "Perhaps you would've been better off with the Imp. He has a kind heart, even if he hides it."

Sansa cocked her head quizzically. "You speak as if you know Lord Tyrion."

Willas' face was bright. "I do, to an extent. I met him at the wedding of Renly and Margaery. He had approached me and quizzed me on my knowledge of hawks, then dogs, then dragons. He sat with me and I took him to the library and we talked into the night. He had said he always harboured a fondness for cripples, bastards and broken things." Willas pondered for a moment. "Lady Sto… Stark, Lady Stark," he tasted the name on his tongue, savouring it, "I would've died a thousand times to have taken Tyrion's place."

That unfamiliar fluttering returned to the base of Sansa's stomach. "I am afraid that I have ruined anything we have."

"No." Willas was firm. "You have not." He slid his hand up to the side of her head. "I will never betray you." He did not say that conditionally; I would never betray you. He said will, Sansa glossed over the thought.

Those words were what struck her the most, the thing that tore at her. "You must leave on the morrow," Sansa felt hot tears welling in her eyes. "I cannot forget our moments on the ice, in the hay, the way you talk to me as if I am an equal. I will not forget."

Willas gave her a chaste, fleeting kiss that left Sansa wanting more, more of their first kiss, when she was Alayne and he was Willas and they were not Lord Tyrell and Lady Stark. Sansa curled her hand into his thick hair, cherishing the moment.

There was a beat. Then he said, "Come with me."

"My lord?" Sansa pulled back, reeling. "I… I cannot."

Willas took both her hands in his. "You could ride with my men and lay low in Kings Landing while I accumulate forces. I could give you a place at Highgarden, you could…" his words were stuttered, terrified, enamoured. "I would be good to you, Sansa."

Sansa stood up, going to the window, looking out over the moonlit mountain range, snow-capped and ethereal in its beauty. "I… I apologise, but I have duties here, My Lord."

He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. His eyes were glistening in heartfelt confusion. "I cannot leave you. I simply cannot."

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Sansa avoided looking at him, his dishevelled curls, his serious face, his eyes that were so similar to those of his siblings, for if she did she would give in to him. "I cannot leave my life here. I am…" she could not say it, but she had to. "Petyr has organised a… a match for me." A tear threatened to overflow.

Willas jolted as if he'd been struck. "A match." He looked at the floor. "I… I see."

A ragged breath escaped Sansa as she nodded. "I do not feel anything for him. But I must stay here to fulfil my role and eventually, perhaps, take back what is mine in the North." Her voice cracked as she said "north."

"Fulfil your role," he repeated. "Are you an actress, my lady? Are you in a mummer's farce of which I am a spectator?" Willas' voice was calm, but an undercurrent of sentiment ran deep. "You do not have to be restrained in a place you do not belong, with people you do not care for. Be free with me. If you will."

Does he imagine I do not want to come with him? "Where do I belong?" Sansa asked. "In Highgarden? In the slums of Kings Landing?" The tear ran down her nose, and she feared she looked blotchy. "If I were Alayne, I would come with you. I desire it with every ounce of my being. But I must stay. I would be in danger if I came with you, you understand that."

Willas was silent. "Who is he?"

"His name in Harrold Hardyng. Harry the heir."

"Ah." Willas' expression was so hurt it felt like a dagger in Sansa's heart. "Would you… forsake me so easily?" he croaked.

"You are the one who is leaving, my lord," she replied steadily. "I just… I wanted you to know the whole truth, as you deserve to." She paused. "I wanted to… I wanted to show you how much I care for you before you left. I had not thought it would be so difficult."

His nod was hard. It was dawn, and the first light of the morning was peeking over the crest of the mountain in view. Willas clenched his jaw, the muscles tense and visible. "My thanks, my lady." He click clicked over to his door. "I must needs prepare for my long journey, lady Stark." His eyes were wet and red, but he did not take them from Sansa.

Sansa's tears were dripping now. "I am sorry."

"Do not be," Willas said, "do not be. I know that you would be in danger. I am being selfish in my emotions." He was trying so hard to be strong, she could sense it. He forced a cheery smile. "I will survive, my lady. I have memories, and memories suffice."

Sansa bit her lip. How could she return to being Alayne after this? "Two goodbyes in one night," she smiled sadly. "Perhaps I should've left it at the first one."

"I am so glad you did not, Lady Sto.. Stark." He bowed slightly. "I will never forget."

Sansa leant in to kiss him on his cheek. "Neither will I."

She cried silently as she left his chambers, unaware of the shadowy figure that watched her as she mournfully made her way back to her own, a figure that would surely be disappointed with her for such folly, a figure whose stomach burnt with possessive envy.

But it was done now. A tryst could not last, Petyr thought to himself. It was that, and only that.

He knew that tomorrow was when Sansa would need to forget any existing feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate myself


	10. Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going off the book canon from the newest Alayne chapter from the winds of winter, where Harry and Alayne are flirting! So yes they know each other :p

A week had passed when Petyr approached her in her chambers.

When Willas had left, it seemed as if another small part of Sansa had disappeared, disappeared to a place where the pieces of her that belonged to her father, her mother, Arya, Robb, Bran and Rickon had disappeared to, pieces that belonged to Jeyne Poole and Septa Mordane and Lady, even Theon. She couldn't help but reimagine their shared kiss that exciting, scary evening, his earnest eyes so warm and kind and intelligent on hers, a warmth and intelligence that matched her own. She missed him, it was true. But she could not miss him.

She was forced into cruel reality when Petyr took her hand gently and said "Harry the heir is coming to the Eyrie on the morrow. Make sure you continue to court him, for he is your future, the future of the North as well. Do not forget that, sweetling." His cool hand squeezed her own, an attempt at reassurance. "Do not let… distractions veer you off the course of your birthright."

Sansa's initial feeling was of a selfish distaste. She had submitted to the idea at first, quite content to have a handsome husband to help her take back Winterfell. But now she wavered, and Sansa was shocked. He knew about Willas? Of course he knows, she thought, what doesn't he know? "Petyr, I have not forgotten." She swallowed as his green-grey eyes grew warmer. "My duty is to us, and to our goal." My goal, she though internally. She had learnt from Petyr himself that in order to climb to where you want to be, you must use others as rungs on a ladder to reach it. Harry was one such rung; Petyr was the ladder himself.

"I am glad to hear that." His hand rose to cup her cheek. "Sweetling, I do not want you to come to any harm." Petyr's voice was verging on tenderness as he wound a lock of rusted brown hair around his finger, and sent Sansa's heart racing with discomfort.

"Thank you, father. I… I am so grateful that you care for me." The dusk light shone through the window on his face, Petyr's pointed beard slightly overgrown.

"I do care, Alayne. And that is why you must forget Willas Tyrell. He is an infringement. I had not thought you to be so… brazen, for want of a better word, as to give yourself to him. Hardyng cannot know about your lost maidenhead."

Sansa blinked, then shook her head wildly. "I… father, I am a virgin! I did not… give my maidenhead to Willas Tyrell." She swallowed. "Why would you even think such a thing?"

Petyr was clearly surprised, but his lips curled into a sly smile. "I saw you leave his chambers the night before he left for king's landing. I do hope you're not lying to me, daughter."

Sansa locked eyes with Petyr, stoic. "I am not lying, father," she replied evenly.

"Then I am happy to hear. I did not want anyone who did not care for you to… besmirch you in such a way." The purring undercurrent of his voice caused Sansa to shiver.

He did care for me, Sansa wanted to scream, a young girl again. He did. "I am touched, father."

Harry the Heir arrived at the Eyrie the next morning in a flurry of knights. Sansa was busy with Myranda, dressing Robert for the new day. The Maester had been with him most of the night, as apparently he had been coughing profusely. "Not a dry cough of a simple rheum, Lord Baelish," he said. "He has coughed up some blood."

Sansa and Petyr received Harry and his men in the Crescent Hall, after they had made their ascent up the Giant's Lance. He's very handsome, Sansa thought as she considered him, but the cocksure way he sneered was enough to relay her into thoughts of Willas' gentle and grounded nature. Flanking Harry were Lady Anya Waynwood and Lord Nestor Royce, both windswept and flushed.

"Lord Baelish. My thanks for receiving us." Harry bowed, his golden fringe falling into his eyes. She was reminded of the warm brown bedraggled curls that rested on Willas' pensive forehead, but only momentarily.

Harrold Hardyng looked up enticingly through his eyelashes as he took Sansa's hand, kissing it. "Lady Alayne. It is truly a pleasure to see you once more." Sansa could see how this boy had fathered so many bastards- his charm and handsome face were enough to make any maiden's knees weak. However, Sansa remained composed.

"No, my thanks for taking the time to come to the Eyrie, my lords and Lady Anya," Petyr took Harry's hand and shook it. He did the same with Lord Royce, and kissed Lady Waynwood's hand as she looked elsewhere. "Tis such a grievous time, with the winter settling in." Harry nodded, still eying Alayne with his clear blue eyes.

"I am intrigued as to why you have invited us into your home and hearth yet again, my lord," Lady Waynwood cocked an arched eyebrow. Sansa was as well. Surely she was not revealing herself so soon? Her stomach flipped at the thought. She did not trust these people. She could not do that, not yet.

"Indeed." Lord Royce sniffed, taking in his surroundings. "Have you had visitors recently?" He smiled amiably as he approached the table where sweetmeats and oatcakes had been set out by the handmaidens. "You seem quite prepared."

"Two weeks ago Lord Willas Tyrell of Highgarden and his men took solace here as they headed to Kings Landing. I supplied Willas with a number of men in repayment for his work in the Reach, to keep out the impending, ha, joy." Petyr smirked at his own jest. "Iron Islanders."

"Willas Tyrell? Isn't he that cripple?" Harry guffawed. "He is rallying men? He can hardly walk or even ride a horse, let alone keep out whichever Greyjoy it is."

Sansa's stomach twisted in anger. She fought back the urge to protect Willas' name.

"He is an intelligent man, my lord," Petyr replied steadily.

"He's hardly the man to do it, though. He's not even a knight. Where are Ser Loras and Garlan Tyrell? Hell, even the Kingslayer or the like would be more suited," Lord Royce shook his head.

"I believe Lord Tyrell knows the intricacies of battle and protection of his own lands, my lord," Sansa blurted. Petyr raised his eyebrows, annoyed but perhaps also impressed.

Lady Waynwood smiled. "I would have to agree with you, my lady. I have met the eldest Tyrell child, he is not some feeble minded cripple who lazes about all day. He is a man of knowledge and wisdom beyond his seven and twenty years."

After the initial courtesies, Lord and Lady Royce were invited to converse in Petyr's solar, while Sansa was left to "amuse" Harry. Or, court him.

They wandered the towers for a few hours filled with banter before Harry finally said something with a vague bit of weight to it.

"You have grown more beautiful since I last saw you, Lady Alayne," Harry smiled, his straight white teeth glistening. Sansa flushed, though it didn't mean as much to her as it would had he been complimenting her wit.

"And you more handsome, Lord Harry. I must say your hair is ever reminiscent of a golden lion." Sansa's heart twinged when she realised she had said "I must say," such a quintessentially Willas-like idiosyncrasy.

Harry chortled. "Am I a Lannister, then?"

"No, no, much too charming to be a Lannister," Sansa giggled. Harry laughed as well. Perhaps this was not so bad, after all, Sansa thought.

"Alayne, you are a mystery. I do enjoy your company, and your beauty is unmatchable. Are Mya Stone or Randa about?" They had reached the top of the tower, the bleak sunlight cool as the snow outside fell. From where they were, through the window they could see the majestic waterfall, Alyssa's Tears, the glacial flow gushing from the top of the crag.

"Randa is most likely with Lord Robert. He has not been well. Mya is probably tending to her mules."

"Of course she is," Harry said gently. Then, "When isn't Lord Robert ill? I'd wager he's dead in two moons."

Sansa gasped. She had thought that niggling thought once or twice, of course, but she had never verbalised it, especially not in such a nonchalant manner. "Lord Harry!" She chided. The way he spoke briefly conjured up a memory of Jon saying something similar about Theon, when isn't he an ass?

Harry shrugged, running a sinewy hand through his hair. Sansa noticed his forearm was wired with muscle. "Apologies. Still, I am just speaking the truth. I am his heir, and what kind of lord is Robert Arryn? I would be a better lord of the Vale than him or your father."

Sansa studied him, her eyes slightly narrowed. How do you know that, Harry? "You would?" she quipped.

Harry frowned, clearly annoyed, but tried to brush it off. "Of course I would," he said, puffing his chest. "What do you know about ruling, Alayne? Pray tell."

"Only what my father has told me, my lord. But I am sure, you would be a wonderful lord of the Eyrie. That is, if Robert does die. But if he does not, what then?"

Harry stared out the window, and Sansa could swear he was pouting. "Lord Royce and Lady Anya will find me a wife of good birth and see where it goes from there, I suppose." He frowned. "Why am I telling you this? You're but a bastard girl."

Sansa breathed a laugh through her nose. "Bastard may I be, I am not stupid. I can talk of important matters with men and women alike." Jon's a bastard, he'd be proud that I am being as smart as him.

Harry turned to face her, his piercing blue eyes catching hers. "Such a mysterious bastard girl. I do wonder who your mother was, because I see no Littlefinger in you, perhaps besides your fast tongue. You are much too beautiful. Was she a whore, or highborn?"

"I do not know much about her, except that she was beautiful, and of high birth. A Red Apple Fossoway, perhaps. I do not know."

Harry smirked beguilingly. "You said you would not wear my favour to the tourney. What displeases you about me, Alayne?" he purred.

The way you talked of Willas. "Nothing displeases me about you, my lord. You are every inch a lord and a very comely one at that. I simply did not take your favour as I am only a bastard girl; you should perhaps give your favour to another girl, of higher birth." Sansa's mouth kept filling with saliva. She realised she was nervous- the way Harry spoke reminded her of Joffrey, and she knew she had to tread carefully as he was just as handsome, if not more so, than Joffrey had ever been.

"No highborn girls around here are half as comely as you are, my lady," he bit his lip, obviously an action that was meant to entice. Court him, sweetling, Petyr had said. But now she felt as if she were a betrayer.

No. She had to look past a fleeting tryst, look at the bigger picture. She could do this. Willas was gone now, as much as it pained her to believe it; his kindness and his gentle humour and his limp and his way of treating her equally were gone. He was gone.

"You are too kind, Harry." She grinned, then turned around to return to the winding staircase. She had to find Petyr and ask where to go from here. That was when she felt hands on her waist, pulling her backwards.

His breath was hot on her cheek from behind her, his hard body pressed against her back. "You do unthinkable things to my person, Alayne," Harry breathed in her ear. Sansa wondered how many women he had said that to. She paused, imagining someone else saying those words over her shoulder, someone whose grasp would be gentler, whose leg would be hurting. Sansa's breathing quickened, and warmth built up in the base of Sansa's stomach, moving downwards as she imagined it was not Harry's hands but his hands on her waist, moving towards… oh! Snapping back into reality, Sansa shivered, scared and uncertain of this situation. She tried to pull away.

"Harry, I… what are you doing?" She whispered. "This is not appropriate. You hardly know me."

Harry laughed softly into her ear. "Not appropriate? Fuck appropriate. Alayne, wear my favour," his voice was husky.

Sansa squirmed against his grasp, turning to face him. Her face was glowing. "Fine. I will wear it. Unhand me." She was beginning to feel frightened.

Harry's hands moved down her front, but Sansa pulled away. "No, Harry," she said firmly, backing away. "Let us go and find my father, shall we?" Sansa smoothed her hair and dress and smiled, rushing down the stairs.

Harry shook his head, bearing his teeth. "Alayne, you know you feel what I feel! Do not leave me so unsatisfied!"

Sansa swallowed, her hands shaking. She left him upstairs as she descended the stairs, pondering her situation. Where did she go from here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuckboi? I think so  
> Please comment!! Tell me what you waaant


	11. I'm not ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's baaaack! Uni is hectic, so that's why I haven't been writing, but I will try! Enjoy, mah franz xx

Petyr was in the High Hall with lord Royce and lady Waynwood, leaning so that his hands were on the mahogany table between them. Sansa could hear that they were clearly in deep conversation, but she did not desire to be with Harrold Hardyng alone for much longer. As Sansa entered, still flushed after Harry the Heir's attempt at intimacy, the talking came to an abrupt stop. Petyr straightened, his disposition calm and his eyes bright as he caught Sansa's. Sansa cocked her head slightly, inquisitive, when lord Nestor Royce and Lady Anya turned to face her.

Sansa's heart raced, and her breakfast of figs and cheese threatened to make a second appearance.

They knew. She glanced at Petyr, who smiled. Her hands began to sweat.

"Lady Stark," Lady Anya smiled, and Sansa swallowed hard, her tongue heavy as iron. "Had we known it was you under Lord Baelish's protection, perhaps we would not have taxed ourselves to drive him out of the Vale." She cleared her throat as Petyr harrumphed in concurrence. "Autumn wanes, and we must gird ourselves for winter. As I have said, no one of us wants war. And who knows winter better than a Stark of lord Eddard's loins?"

Sansa was lost. This was all going so fast, too fast. Her mouth was dry and her head spun as she fumbled for words, any words, any sentences.

"The court has left for the Gates of the Moon," Lord Royce contributed, "and we believe that if you are to marry our ward that it would be safest for all in the Eyrie to descend to the valley below. Including my daughter, Myranda." Lord Nestor clearly adored his daughter, and had once tried to marry her to Harry, to no avail. Sansa wondered if he held any spite towards this plan, considering it marked his daughter as unworthy.

"Once you are wed, Sansa, sweetling, that is when you will take back your home. You will take back Winterfell as your own, from the Boltons, with the men of the Lords of the Vale and the Gates of the Moon," said Petyr. Sansa had not realised he had sauntered to be by her side until he took her hand, her sweat gliding off the coolness of his palm.

"The men of the Gates of the Moon will be your support. I will be your liege, Lady Stark, as will Lady Anya and many more." It was at this that Sansa saw that Nestor Royce held no malevolence towards her for being betrothed to Harry; Randa must have spoken highly of her. But this was all too overwhelming. How long had she wanted to be Sansa again? Too long, she knew, but this was too much for her. She wanted Winterfell, oh, to be home again! But what if… what if…

Sansa dithered on her feet, and her vision blurred. She leaned heavily on Petyr. "It's alright, sweetling, do not fret," her murmured, as Anya opened the door to let Harry inside. Sansa hardly noticed. Harry did; his neck flushed furiously.

Sansa couldn't breathe. "I'm not ready." She couldn't help but lean her head into Petyr's shoulder; the ground was falling beneath her; a moon door had opened and she was tumbling down into the mountains below, cold and biting and bitter.

"Tell me what part of this is worrying you," Petyr asked, stroking her hair.

All Sansa could manage was a croaky whisper. "Cersei," she said into his shoulder. "Cersei will find out, she always finds out, the Spider…"

"She will not find out, not yet. It will remain in this room until you are wed." Sansa opened her eyes and pulled away from Petyr to see her betrothed gaping at her in disbelief.

"Sansa Stark?" He gawked, as lady Waynwood nodded. Harry looked as shocked as she felt. "But… she's a bastard! She can't be Sansa Stark!" His chiselled features looked ridiculous as he balked.

Lord Nestor approached Sansa and Petyr. "My Lord, and Lady, I will not give word of this until the time is right. And I am sure that Lady Waynwood will not either. Or Harrold." He glared pointedly at Harry. "No one else knows that Littlefinger's bastard is Sansa Stark, yes?"

Sansa's heart fluttered. Would Willas betray her? "No," she replied.

Sansa and Harry caught eyes, and Sansa attempted a tentative smile. He feigned one in return, but turned his broad back on her, whispering with Lord Royce. He does not want a wife, Sansa thought. He only wants pretty girls he can plant a bastard inside and leave to suffer on their own.

The Royce's and Harry the Heir left for the Gates of the Moon when dusk fell, led by Mya Stone. The girl was lithe and walked with purpose, and her blue eyes gave away her parentage. Sansa felt that if Mya knew who she really was, they couldn't be as close as she would like. Sansa had not had a female friend who knew her truly since Jeyne Poole; how she missed her, when they would sneak lemoncakes from the kitchens and giggle until early in the morning. She wondered where Jeyne was now. Jeyne would've adored Harry the Heir.

Once they had left, Sansa turned on Petyr. "You ought to warn me before you tell people of importance." Her voice was cold.

Petyr smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "The Royce's can be trusted, believe me, sweetling. And Harry is quite comely, and will give you the heir and men you need to take back Winterfell." What if I don't want Harry? Sansa thought, but she knew how stupid and childish that thought was. She could not choose who she was to marry.

"Yes, well, I'd still prefer to be informed when my own… details are being spread around like rumours." Sansa straightened her shoulders, meeting Petyr's gaze.

Petyr sighed, bobbing his head. "I suppose you're right. Forgive me. Next time, I will inform you." They walked slowly down the corridor, in the direction of Petyr's private chambers. Sansa hadn't been in there since Lysa had died. "Speaking of informing, I must needs tell you of some important matters regarding politics and the Queen. Come." He opened the door to his chambers and led her inside.

Sansa hesitated on the threshold. "I am not sure I would feel… comfortable in my Aunt's old chambers."

"I understand. But I have ensured that no remnants of your dear Aunt Lysa linger in here."

Sansa contemplated that answer. So eager to get rid of all traces, Petyr? She thought. She gave in, and entered. It was clean, so clean, and whatever personal belongings Petyr owned where out of sight- it was impersonal, and sterile. "You have news of Cersei?" Sansa asked whilst looking around.

"Indeed I do, and my, oh my, sweetling, it is interesting. Sit." He gestured for her to sit on the end of his four poster bed, meant for two. She sat, and the silk lined sheets beneath her rustled. How long had he had silk for? Petyr stood across from her, leaning on the wall.

"The Queen Regent has been put under penance for crimes she has allegedly committed, including adultery, by the High Sparrow; he is the leader of a religious assemblage who believe they do the work of the Seven. She has completed her walk of atonement, where she walked naked through the slums of Flea Bottom."

Sansa was frozen still, enraptured with what he was saying. Petyr was clearly struggling to contain his glee. "Margaery is free from her Queen Mother's torment, then?" Sansa asked breathlessly.

Petyr shook his head morosely. "From Cersei's torment, mayhaps. But Margaery was also accused of committing similarly heinous and promiscuous crimes, and the pair were locked beneath the Red Keep. Tommen ruled without either queen; that is, until now."

"What do you mean?"

"Cersei fought her way out of her trial. She… she used Wildfire to destroy the Great Sept, whilst the Sparrows, Kettleblacks, Margaery and Loras Tyrell, and hundreds of others were inside. They were all killed in the blow." He chuckled darkly. "The Mad Queen."

Sansa's heart twisted as she absorbed this news, nodding slowly. Margaery and Loras were dead. Willas. Oh, how her heart ached for dear Willas, who spoke of them so gently, the way she would speak of Arya and Bran and Rickon… Sansa fought back tears. She wished, she wished she could be with him. She knew how he would feel, having lost Robb, her parents, Arya… Oh, Willas, I am so sorry.

As if Petyr has read her mind, he continued. "Your friend lord Willas had left for Dorne only days before the blow; he was denied men from King's Landing by a man called Qyburn. In Dorne, Arianne Martell had revolted in an attempt to put Myrcella on the throne; you know their Dornish beliefs. Myrcella was subsequently injured, and lost an ear." Sansa gasped. Poor, sweet, clever Myrcella. "And, in the North…" Petyr paused.

Sansa's breathing hitched. "Yes?"

"Your bastard brother was stabbed by men of the Night's Watch."

Sansa covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. "No. No." Another one, dead. She could not bear it, she could not bear it…

"Sansa, listen. He is alive. I do not know how, but he is alive." Sansa could breathe again, the weight lifted. Jon is alive, he's alive. She did not care how he survived, she was simply glad he was still in the land of the living. "That is the end of my news." He sat beside her, gently touching her hand. "I am sorry to shock you with all of this. I just felt you should be privy to the knowledge."

Sansa closed her eyes, nodding. "I am glad you told me." She exhaled shakily. "I am afraid Cersei will try to kill me once I am wed."

"That will not happen," Petyr assured. "I will protect you." He sat beside her and pulled her close. "No one will ever protect you as well as I have, and will continue to." His voice was low and rasping. "Harry will be your husband, but it is I who you must always trust foremost. That is how you will survive Cersei once you and Harry take back Winterfell." His breath touched her cheek, followed by his lips. "On the morrow, we are to begin our descent, and after that, we conquer, you and I. Together."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work for Ao3, and I'd love to continue this one if enough people want me to. Please leave feedback, it's always welcome! x Scar


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